


The Proposal

by mermaidsahoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Modern AU, The Proposal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaidsahoy/pseuds/mermaidsahoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So…this has been an idea that I’ve been messing around with for a while. I really love the movie The Proposal, and I was thinking how it would be funny if the story was matched up with GoT and SanSan. As I couldn’t see Sansa as being a bitchy boss that everyone hates and Sandor being a likeable assistant, I switched the roles: Sansa is the assistant, the Starks live in Alaska, and Sandor is the boss from hell, who is about to be deported. The general storyline will be followed along with many quotes from the movie, but I have tweaked it for the obvious reasons of fitting in the characters and reversed roles.<br/>I hope you like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All ASOIAF characters/locations mentioned within this work belong to George R.R. Martin. Any characters/locations pulled from The Proposal belongs to the movie rights; I do not own them. Please do not copy or distribute this work without my knowledge and permission.

Sansa wasn’t sure how it was possible that she slept through her alarm. It was something that she had never done before, something that she trained herself not to do. But for whatever reason, this morning she rolled over, squinted at the sunlight creeping through the blinds, and blearily glanced at her clock. Her alarm had gone off thirty minutes ago.

With a jolt of fright, she catapulted from the bed, almost tripping and falling on her face as the sheets tangled around her ankles, and stumbled to the closet. “Crap!” she cried, digging through her outfits. “Crap, crap!” Hurriedly, she pulled on a silky white blouse and a high-waist black skirt. In the bathroom she brushed her teeth and applied just enough makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes and bring attention to her long thick lashes. Her wavy hair was a mess, but there was nothing to do but comb it quickly. If she had time, she could finish getting ready at her desk. If _he_ managed to be late as well. Which _he_ probably wouldn’t be.

Grabbing a trusty pair of heels, she ran to the kitchen and popped half a bagel in the toaster, checking her watch and groaning at the time. “Ugh!” Not bothering to apply jelly or cream cheese to the bagel, she placed it between her teeth, picked up her purse from the kitchen table, and rushed out the door. She was already running late, and she still had to run to Starbucks.

Cursing the heavy morning traffic of New York City, Sansa chose to run rather than hail a cab to the coffee shop, which was luckily positioned halfway between her apartment and work. There was a large line, as expected, but one of the baristas, a rather attractive young man, waved her over and handed her two steaming cups of coffee. “The usual?” he asked, taking the exact amount of cash from Sansa’s hands and ignoring the looks of hate they were receiving from the other customers. “Yes, thank you so, so much! I’m running behind this morning,” Sansa explained as she carefully balanced the coffee in a to-go holder. “You’re welcome!” the barista called back as she flew back through the door and out onto the crowded sidewalk.

It was a miracle she made it to work without getting run over. Sansa almost wept with relief when she saw the tall tower of _Baratheon Book Publishing, Inc_., looming before her, the gold letters gleaming. She followed some business men through the spinning doors and maneuvered to the elevators, choosing one that would take her up the back way, flashed a thankful smile at a man who kept one of the doors open for her, and pressed the button for floor 10.

The doors opened, and she walked into the busy area filled with cubicles and other employees, using the last minutes of freedom to converse and laugh with each other over the dividers. Momentarily feeling triumphant, Sansa found her way to her desk, set the coffee down, and booted up the computer, her blue eyes scanning the hallways. It was five minutes until 8 o’clock.

Her email popped open, and a little notification appeared from Jenny, the front desk girl in the lobby. “He’s here.” Sansa quickly forwarded the email to every other employee on the floor. At the other end of the room, where the main elevators were, she could see through a thick shield of glass that one of them opened, and a tall, heavily muscled, suit-clad man walked out. She quickly typed out another email: “The Devil has emerged from hell.” And she was lucky enough to be his assistant.

Instantly, the happy-go-lucky atmosphere of the office floor turned on its head, and every employee instantly rushed to their desks or to other occupations assigned to them. The air emptied of idle chit-chat and instead filled with the sounds of copying machines and fingers clicking busily on keyboards. Sansa sunk behind her divider, watching the boss blaze his trail through the office; anyone in his path had to either move over or be trampled. As soon as his foreboding figure disappeared inside his office, Sansa sprang up, grabbed one of the coffee cups and her notebook, along with a stack of papers, and headed for his office as well, only to be slammed into by Jessica, who was carrying a pile of folders. The folders went everywhere, and so did the coffee…all over Sansa’s blouse.

“Oh no! Sansa, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you!” Sansa gaped at her ruined front, her mind already racing with excuses to give her boss. No, he would not tolerate a messy appearance… “It’s fine, Jessica, but quick, give me your blouse!” “What?” the other woman gave her an uncomprehending look. “Just do it!”

Two minutes later, Sansa was wearing Jessica’s blouse, which thankfully fit and was rather cute, and carrying her own cup of coffee into the office marked “Sandor Clegane: Executive Editor in Chief”. Taking a deep breath, she approached the large, simple oak desk, behind which sat her boss, looking every bit as intimidating as he had every day for the past three years, bent over a manuscript. “Good Morning, sir,” she greeted, placing his coffee on the desk along with the papers. “Sansa,” he rasped shortly, barely giving her a glance. “What’s today’s schedule?” _Right to the point, as always,_ Sansa thought. She flipped her notebook open. “You have a meeting with Richard Perkins at 9,” she read, clicking her ball-point pen. “A meeting with Stanford at 10, and another meeting with the board at 2.” She placed her pen to the paper, ready to take notes.

Mr. Clegane tapped a few fingers on his desk methodically, thinking. He would be handsome if he didn’t have permanent glare and expression of indifference on his face, like everyone and everything annoyed him. Dark hair that was parted over to one side, stormy grey eyes, a strong jaw complimented by a short beard that was borderline scruff. The scars that covered the right side of his face weren’t so bad, thanks to skin grafts, but they were enough to add to his fierceness. Plus, his size and dark demeanor were enough to frighten anyone. His personality wasn’t a redeeming factor, as well. As far as Sansa was concerned, her boss had the personality of a stump.

“Sounds good,” he grunted, and Sansa made check marks next to the scheduled items. “Oh, and when Trant comes in, remind me to fire him.” Sansa had been scribbling down his order but she paused. “You’re firing our editor? Why?” she asked in surprise. Mr. Clegane arched a dark eyebrow at her question. “Yes, I am. He has failed consistently in the last few months to finish the work and close the deals he is assigned to. And he’s always late. And I really despise his taste in ties. Does that answer your questions, Miss Stark?” Sansa swallowed. He only called her “Miss Stark” when he was in a more sarcastic mood than usual. Hoping to avoid spurring him into irritation, she simply nodded. “I will make a note of that, sir.” “Good. You’re dismissed for now,” he said with a brief wave of his hand and reached for his coffee, settling back in the leather chair.

Sansa turned to leave when he spoke again. “Who is Michael, and why does he want me to call him?” She whipped her head around, puzzled, and saw him gazing at the coffee cup. On the side, written in black marker, was a name and phone number. Mr. Clegane shot her an inquisitive look. “Oh...um…” She sighed. “Well, that was originally my cup.”

“And I’m drinking your coffee why?” he questioned. “Because…yours spilled.”

He nodded slowly, then brought the cup to his lips to take a sip. “So…you drink unsweetened cinnamon light soy lattes?” He enjoyed this, Sansa knew. He enjoyed making people feel uncomfortable. “I do. It’s like Christmas in a cup,” she replied, hoping the answer was neutral enough to dismiss the subject. “Is that a coincidence?” her boss continued.

“Incredibly, it is. I mean, I wouldn’t possibly drink the same coffee that you do in case yours ever spilled,” Sansa responded, becoming more and more nervous by the second, “that would be pathetic.” Mr. Clegane’s grey eyes looked her up and down for a moment, then nodded his head in dismissal.

Sansa fled from the office, flopping back into her chair at her desk with a sigh. The phone rang, so she tossed down her notebook and answered it. “Good morning, Mr. Clegane’s office.”

Another, normal, frantic day had begun…or Sansa thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I just want to say thank you to all of the enthusiastic responses for this story. You guys are great! 
> 
> I like the idea of Sandor being in charge of things, and I feel like he would just be an absolute butthole to everyone, simply because he enjoys making people mad. If he seems OOC though let me know. 
> 
> Obviously, some characters’ names and situations will change to better fit this story and so it will not run exactly like the movie.

The morning crept by without much incident. Mr. Clegane went to his meetings, and Sansa answered phone calls, emails, and sorted through manuscripts for him to go over later, along with other monotonous tasks like picking up his dry-cleaning.

Right after Mr. Clegane returned from his 10 o’clock and was talking on the phone with Frank Bass, an author they had been trying to get an interview from for months, Sansa’s mother called her desk phone. Sansa had told her family to do that so she could pretend she was working and not get in trouble for being on her cell phone. “Hey Mom…” Sansa glanced at her boss’s door. “I’m sorry, I can’t come home this weekend…I know, I know. Tell Gammie I’m sorry..... What do you want me to tell you? He’s making me work the weekend.” Mr. Clegane had decided that this coming weekend was a perfect time to clean out all the filing cabinets, and the day before he told Sansa that her assistance was required. When she opened her mouth to explain that she had had plans to go home, he shot her a look and she immediately shut her trap.

“I’m sure Dad is pissed…” Mr. Clegane suddenly exited his office and walked towards her. “But we take all our submissions very seriously and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can,” Sansa spoke quickly, changing the subject, and hung up the phone just as her boss reached her desk.

“That your family?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. Sansa sighed. He could sniff out a liar a country away. It was the one thing he had standards on: no lying, just the harsh truth and straight facts. And he was superb at delivering both of those things with ferocious bluntness. “Yes,” she answered.

“Did they tell you to quit?” Mr. Clegane continued, resting his elbow on the top of her cubicle. “Every single day,” was her reply. His eyebrow arched and he studied her for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching. Some voices across the room caught his attention before he could say more.

“Ah, Trant is here. Come on, Sansa.” Sansa stood and followed obediently, taking her notebook. Mr. Clegane, for whatever unearthly reason, liked her to be there when he fired people. Maybe as a reminder, a threat, of what he could do to her should she fail her duties. They marched down the hall and into the editor’s office, where Meryn was just hanging up the phone. “Sandor,” he greeted with poorly hidden distaste. Sansa stood near the back of the room, unwilling to call attention to herself. She watched as her boss’s eyes darkened with an evil glint.

“Trant,” he said, placing his hands in his pockets as if they were about to have a casual conversation. Through the doorway, Sansa could see some of the other employees poking their heads from behind their cubicles, looking rather like prairie dogs. They were just as eager for a show as Mr. Clegane was to deliver it.

“What can I do for you?” Meryn asked, visibly uncomfortable as he loosened his tie. “Well,” Mr. Clegane began, giving the room a once-over. “You can do a lot, actually, but I think packing up your things in some boxes would be a good place to start.” Sansa held her breath. Meryn blinked in confusion. “What?”

“I’m firing you,” Mr. Clegane replied. “I asked you multiple times to get Frank on Oprah and you didn’t do it.” Meryn scoffed at that. “It’s impossible. Frank hasn’t given an interview in twenty years.”

“That’s interesting, because I just got off the phone with him, and he’s in,” Sandor replied, causing Meryn’s mouth press into a thin line. “I’ll give you two months to find another job and clean out your office to make it presentable for a future occupant.” Meryn gaped at him like a goldfish, his face turning red and his fists clenching. Mr. Clegane continued gazing about the room and his eyes settled on the large bookcase behind Sansa. “I like this bookcase. Sansa,” he said, and she snapped to attention, pen and paper at the ready. “Have this delivered to my office once Meryn is out.” “Yes, sir,” she replied softly, jotting it down.

“You can’t fire me,” Meryn sputtered angrily. “I just did,” Mr. Clegane said, his mouth curling into a predatory smirk that Sansa hoped he would never unleash on her. “Bye.” He headed out the door and Sansa followed, eager to get away from the tension that was building in that office.

“What’s he doing?” her boss asked. She glanced behind them at Trant. “He’s pacing…he’s got crazy eyes.”

They were halfway down the hall when Trant burst from his office, steaming. “Clegane!” he yelled. They turned around, and Sansa noticed her boss did not seem surprised by the outburst. “I know why you fired me!” Meryn seethed. “You feel threatened by me! You fire anyone you feel threatened by! You fired me because you’re a stuck-up asshole! And you know what? I pity you! Because when you’re on your deathbed, you won’t have anything or anyone.” He punctuated his words with jabbing a finger towards Mr. Clegane. The entire office fell silent.

Mr. Clegane observed the furious man in front of him coolly. “Listen carefully, Trant. I did not fire you because I feel threatened. I fired you because you are lazy, entitled, incompetent, and you spend more time cheating on your wife than you do in your office. And if you say another word I will have you thrown out on your ass. Okay?” Trant answered with an obscene gesture. Sansa gripped the notebook tightly.

“Do that again and you’re out of here with an armed escort. Sansa here will film it on her little camera phone and put it on that Internet site.” He turned to her. “What’s it called?” “YouTube,” Sansa answered quickly. “Exactly. Is that what you want, Trant?”

Meryn was fuming, but he reluctantly shook his head no. “Didn’t think so. I have work to do.” He smirked, and Trant slunk back into his office, muttering under his breath. It was then Mr. Clegane seemed to notice their audience. “Get back to work!” he snapped, and the employees scurried to their duties.

 

* * *

 

All in all, it had been a pretty accomplished day so far. The meetings went well, and he had got to fire Trant, which was an event he had been looking forward to for months. The man annoyed him to no end, and Sandor watched with twisted satisfaction as the man moved his things out of his office. The company would certainly do better without him, Sandor was sure.

Starting on his second cup of coffee, this time some muddy deluge from the break room, Sandor began marking up a manuscript when a knock on his office door announced Robert Baratheon and Barristan Selmy, his own bosses. “Clegane!” Robert boomed as Selmy gently pushed the door to. “Robert, Barristan,” Sandor replied, rising and walking around the desk to shake their hands. “I didn’t know you were dropping by.” Silently he wondered if it was some memo that his little assistant had forgotten to mention to him. He’d have to grill her about it later.

“Neither did we,” Robert answered, seating himself while Barristan remained standing. “Clegane, we have a rather…delicate situation.” Sandor crossed his arms, waiting. It must be important if they were interrupting him in the middle of the day. “What is it?”

“Do you remember when we agreed that you wouldn’t go to the Frankfurt book fair, because you weren’t allowed out of the country while your visa application was being processed?” Sandor nodded, he remembered it very clearly. “Yes, I do.” “And yet you went anyways,” Robert continued. “We were going to lose Darrison to Vikings, so I did what I thought was necessary,” Sandor answered, wondering where this was going. It wasn’t such a big deal. They had ended up getting the contract, so why was Robert bringing this up now?

“Well, it seems the American government does not care for book publishing companies,” Robert muttered, picking up some papers. “Your visa application has been denied,” Barristan added, slowly and calmly. “And you are being deported.” Sandor wondered if perhaps this some stupid, childish joke, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Robert might do something like that, but Barristan would never waste time on such antics. “What?” he asked in a deadly tone. The two men shifted before him.

“Apparently there was also some paperwork you failed to fill out in time,” Robert added uneasily. Sandor scoffed. “Look, it’s not like I’m an immigrant from someplace like the Ukraine. I’m from Canada! There’s gotta be a way around this.” “Well, you can apply again, but you’d have to be living out of the country for a year,” Barristan explained.

Sandor huffed, glancing out the window. “A year, huh? Well…I can work with that. I can still manage everything through the phone and video conferences.” “Unfortunately, you cannot have a job in the U.S. if you are not a citizen,” Robert interrupted. “I’m sorry, Clegane.”

This was ludicrous. Sandor could feel his temper beginning to reach heights he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Robert, you know no one else can do what I’ve done for this company.” “Meryn Trant will be replacing you as Editor in Chief once you are gone.” Well that was unexpected. “What the – Trant? The man I just fired earlier? You’ve got to be bloody kidding me.” “He’s still the editor, and since you will be leaving before he does, he will take your position.”

“There has to someone you can speak to.” But Robert was shaking his head. Sandor wanted to punch a wall, and he was considering turning around to do just that when the office door opened again, and Sansa poked her head in. “Mr. Clegane? I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Flannery is on the phone and he refuses to leave a voicemail or call back, even though I told him you were already previously engaged and…. he insists on speaking to you now.”

Sandor didn’t hear a word she just said except for “engaged”. His narrowed eyes landed on her face, and a light bulb switched on in his brain; all he could think was: Girl, single, American citizen.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. The idea flooded his mind and the wheels in his head churned. Could the answer really be this simple? Could he really go against all of his principles of lying and being deceitful? Could he really do this?

He could.

Sandor let a grin curl around his mouth and he adopted a calmer expression, holding his hand out to Sansa. “Sansa, would you come here, please?” The girl looked completely lost, but she walked in and over to him. He rested his hand on the small of her back, noting the way her eyes widened. They were a rather nice shade of blue. “Sansa…I have to tell them.” His assistant blinked up at him, and for the first time he prayed, that she would catch on.

Turning to Robert and Barristan, he cleared his throat. “We didn’t want to tell anyone so soon, but…now that this has come up, I have no choice. Sansa and I are…getting married.”

Barristan looked properly floored, Robert’s mouth dropped open, and he felt Sansa stiffen with surprise. He tightened his grip on her back, hoping she would get the hint. “What?” Robert asked, baffled. “Isn’t she your secretary?” “Assistant,” Sandor corrected. “Executive assistant…secretary…titles…anyways, it wouldn’t be the first time someone fell for their secretary, eh Robert?” The big man blinked, perplexed, but before he could work out that he had just been subtly insulted, Sandor continued, plastering a look of fondness on his face as he lowered his eyes to Sansa. “Yes, Sansa and I are just…two people who weren’t meant to fall in love. Must have been all those late nights in this office…the book fairs…and something just happened.” “Something,” Sansa echoed faintly.

The other men looked at each other. “So, you see, I will not be leaving any time soon,” Sandor added before anyone could say anything else. “I will go downtown and get this all sorted out, don’t you worry.” This was truly an evil, if not genius, plan. It would all be over soon, and then he would get to keep his job, Trant would be booted out the door like he damn well should be, and everything would be back to normal.

Robert cleared his throat. “Oh, I see. Well. Well, well. I suppose congratulations are in order.” He and Barristan straightened up, clearly prepared to leave. “This is good news, Clegane, I am glad you are staying with us.” They shook hands and smiled at Sansa, who still wore a deer in the headlights expression, and then they were alone.

* * *

 

Sansa watched, frozen, as Mr. Clegane left her side and walked behind his desk, taking a seat. He reached for the manuscript and picked up a pen, ready to work again. How was he acting like that conversation never occurred?

She continued to stare at him until he looked up and saw her still standing there. “What?” he asked. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” Sansa answered, barely above a whisper. Blood was pounding in her ears. Mr. Clegane studied her for a moment. “Apparently I am being deported,” he explained, leaning back in the leather chair. “In order to avoid that, we are going to get married. I will get my citizenship, keep my job, and everything will be normal.” Sansa gaped at him. She couldn’t believe it! This was too much.

"What about all your principles about lying and so forth?" she pushed further. He tapped his mouth with the pen for a few seconds, thinking. "Well, there's a first time for everything. And I am not going to let anything get in my way." Her heart sunk, but fresh rebellion rose within her. Maybe he had thrown all his morals, how little of there were, out the window, but she, Sansa Stark, had not.

“No…I won’t do it,” she protested. “It’s illegal!” Mr. Clegane raised his eyebrows and fixed her with a very stern expression that made her want to curl up in a corner and weep. “Oh yes, you will,” he rasped, his voice low and grating. “Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure that all your pretty little dreams of touching the lives of millions of people with the written word will be over, and you will never have a shot at becoming an editor.” Sansa was trembling with horror at the prospect. She did not want to lose her job, she had worked so hard to get here…but this!

Mr. Clegane watched her carefully, and she felt like cornered prey. “Think of it this way,” he offered. “If I leave, Trant will be getting my job, which means that he will give you one of two choices: warm his bed when his wife is out of town and keep your job, or be fired. So even if you don’t help me, you’re screwed.” Sansa felt ill. She reached for one of the chairs and sat down, resting her forehead on her hand. How had this day gone so terribly wrong? “Don’t be dramatic,” her boss advised, his voice sounding like two rocks scraping together. “We’ll go down to the immigration office after work, get everything settled, get married, and after an appropriate amount of time we’ll get a divorce, and it will all be over.” "You're making it sound so simple," she muttered. "That's because it is," he replied. Obviously the prospect of marrying someone he neither loved or even really knew well did not alarm or bother him. It bothered Sansa though. It bothered her a great deal. She did not want to marry him, even if it was a farce. But she was undeniably trapped.

Upon exiting his office, Sansa noticed several other employees giving her sadistic smirks and winks. Confused, she sat down at her desk and saw a email pop up. It read: "Have fun being Satan's mistress."

Stifling the urge to pick up the computer and throw it, Sansa gathered herself together, walked as stately and primly as she could to the bathroom, and locked herself in a stall, where she proceeded to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Sansa would take something like this a lot harder than a man would (or in the movie, Ryan Reynolds' character), so I hope it was fitting that she is so upset she's moved to tears. 
> 
> The next chapter will be filled with more of their banter, including the proposal :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor visit the immigration office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m going to kind of gloss over most of the visit to the immigration office, simply because I want the rest of the story to get going. Hope you enjoy!

The rest of the day dragged by slowly. Sansa had no clue how everyone had managed to find out about her fake engagement, but she blamed Robert Baratheon and his booming voice. The man wasn’t exactly subtle.

Fellow employees passed by her desk with crude remarks, and she was even cornered in the break-room by some of the women, demanding details while they tapped their manicured nails against their hips impatiently and pouted their lipstick-covered mouths when she gave them an unsatisfactory answer. It hadn’t even occurred to Sansa that the other women in the office might be jealous of her situation; were they insane? Maybe they were just desperate. Not that they had any right to complain. As far as Sansa knew, Mr. Clegane had never given any of them time of day, much less shown any interest that could be conveyed as flirting. She snorted. Mr. Clegane, flirting? It was unthinkable. She wondered when he had last been on a date. Sansa couldn’t recall him ever mentioning one, but then, he was secretive, closed off individual.

And it wasn’t like she cared, anyways.

At five o’clock, she and her boss took a cab to the immigration office downtown. Sansa tried to rehearse her “script” in her head. She wasn’t a good liar, especially when she was nervous, and this meeting with the immigration officer had her biting her nails in dread. Mr. Clegane, or Sandor, as she now needed to think of him, seemed relatively calm, albeit irritated, like this was just some mindless errand that was a complete waste of time. For once, Sansa envied his ability to have no conscious.

“You know what to say, right?” he asked suddenly, breaking her out of her miserable thoughts. Sansa squirmed, gripping her hands together in her lap. “Yes. But it might be best if you do most of the talking. This is your idea, after all.” Sandor rolled his eyes and went back to texting some client. “I will, but it will be strange if you don’t say much. Just relax.” It was Sansa’s turn to roll her eyes. Relax. Right.

They reached the office and Sansa followed her boss into the building. He was carrying a folder filled with his documentation and handed it to the front desk agent. “Mr. Clegane, right this way.” The agent led them to a tiny room that contained a desk and two chairs, and gestured for them to sit. Sansa accepted a seat gratefully. She felt like she was going to throw up. “Mr. Baelish will be with you shortly,” the agent said, then left them, shutting the door. The room felt instantly crowded, and Sansa was very aware of Sandor’s intimidating form reluctantly taking a seat next to her, his eyes running over the office with boredom. “How can you not be nervous?” Sansa whispered, though no one else could hear them. Or could they? Maybe there was a microphone hidden somewhere in the room, to catch criminals like they were about to be.

Sandor eyed her in annoyance. “Look, it’s not my fault there’s a loop-hole in the system. I’m merely taking advantage of it. If anything, it’s their fault for having such an option. Now, act casual and quit biting your nails.” Sansa scowled at him, wishing she could pout like a five year old. He frowned back at her. “Don’t look so unhappy, we are supposed to act like we’re madly in love.” Sansa plastered a fake smile on her face and batted her eyelashes at him. “Well, sweetheart, it’s hard to pretend that I’m in love with you when you’re BLACKMAILING me.” Sandor gave her smirk, baring his teeth slightly. “Don’t forget what happens to you if I’m deported, babe.”

The door opened suddenly, making Sansa jump, and they both turned to see a short man with graying brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache enter the room. “Good afternoon,” he greeted pleasantly, though something about his voice made Sansa uncomfortable. “Mr. Clegane?” They shook hands, then Mr. Baelish turned to her. His grey eyes ran over her in a way that made her skin crawl, but Sansa forced a smile and shook his hand too. The man sat down behind his desk, opening the folder he took from Sandor, and buttoned his coat. “Shall we begin?”

He asked some questions about how they met and fell in love, and Sansa let Sandor talk about that, while she kept a happy smile on her face and even patted his hand when he reached over to take hers. His palm was large and warm and rough, and Sansa was torn between feeling intrigued and wanting to push it away from her in disgust. “Now, is your family aware of this engagement, Miss Stark?” Mr. Baelish inquired. Sansa panicked for a moment. Her family. She hadn’t even thought of them! “Oh…well, no, they aren’t. Not yet. I was…we were…” “Going to tell them this weekend, at Gammie’s birthday party,” Sandor interrupted smoothly. Sansa froze, barely managing a nod in agreement. “I see,” Baelish answered, glancing between them. “And where is this party?” Sandor hesitated, then turned to Sansa. “Where is it again, babe?” To an outsider, his gravelly voice would sound apologetic for forgetting something so important, but Sansa had worked for him long enough to know it was really dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? It’s in Sitka.” “Sitka,” Sandor repeated. Sansa nodded, then unleashed the next word with a bit of gratification. “Alaska.” She felt Sandor tense for a split second, before he relaxed again, as if this wasn’t new information to him, yet she felt him grip her hand harder. She only felt a morbid smugness over catching him off-guard.

The feeling had long gone by the time they left the office and the stifling presence of Mr. Baelish, Sansa walking in a daze while irritation rolled off of Sandor in waves. “This is just great,” he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m so dead,” Sansa whispered, wondering what she had done to deserve this. Sandor glanced at her, sighed, and loosened his tie. “Ok. Fine. We’ll go do this birthday party thing in Alaska, come back, prove to that creeper in there that we know each other, bla bla bla, and…” “I’m sorry,” Sansa interrupted, staring at him incredulously. “Were you not in that office?” Sandor arched a brow at her.

“I am facing a fine of $250,000 and five years in prison, Sandor, for helping you. Prison!” Her nerves were fried. “And now, thanks to your genius idea, I have to bring you home to meet my entire family as proof that we are getting married for real.” Sandor continued to look unimpressed with her outburst. “We aren’t going to get caught,” he replied, folding his arms. “People do this all the time. They’re just trying to scare you.” “Yea? Well, it’s working!” Sansa ran a hand through her tousled curls, exhaling. Then she turned to him, straightening her shoulders.

“If I’m going to do this, then I want more in return. Besides keeping my job.” Sandor eyed her suspiciously, then shrugged. “What do you want?” Sansa licked her lips, gathering courage. She had never stood up to him like this before, and the opportunity was frightening as well as exhilarating. “I want my manuscript to be published.” Sandor nodded. “Done.”

“ _And_ …I want to become Editor. And not in two years. As soon as we get married.” Sandor scoffed and shook his head. “No way. That is not happening.” Sansa glared at him. “Fine. Then I quit, and you’re screwed. Bye bye, Sandor.” She started to walk away when his hand reached out and grabbed her elbow. “Okay! You’ll be Editor. And your stupid book will get published. You happy now?” Sansa looked up into his frustrated, scarred face, and read the slight desperation in his dark eyes, and she couldn’t resist making him suffer a bit more. It was only fitting, since he had elected to ruin her life. “There’s one more thing,” she answered sweetly. “You have to propose to me.” Surprise flashed over his face, settling into a scowl.

“Right now?” “Yes. Right now.”

Sandor’s mouth twitched angrily, and he sighed. “Sansa, will you marry me?” He couldn’t have sounded less enthusiastic if he tried. Sansa shook her head, enjoying the small bit of control she now had in this situation. “No.”

Sandor threw up his hands. “What do you mean, “no”?” Sansa folded her hands and smiled. “You have to do it properly, on one knee.” He stared at her like she was crazy, but Sansa remained unflinching. With pure detest, he slowly sank to one knee in front of her, on a busy sidewalk in New York City. “Sansa,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “Lovely, _sweet_ Sansa, will you marry me?” It was killing him to say this; she could practically taste the fury oozing from him. Sansa tapped one finger against her chin in consideration.

“Okay. See you tomorrow at the airport!” She spun away quickly, leaving him there on one knee while passerby gave them curious glances.

This weekend was going to be hell.

* * *

 

Sansa sat in the waiting area by the gate, tapping her foot against the ground nervously while she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. She had spent a good portion of the evening talking to her parents, explaining to them that she was now, indeed, coming home for the weekend, and bringing her boyfriend, who also happened to be her boss, whom she had also painted as the image of Satan for the past three years. Her father had remained suspicious and disbelieving, while her mother eventually accepted the excuse that Sansa and Sandor had been dating for the past six months but Sansa had been too afraid to mention the change to her family after she had so thoroughly convinced them that he was like a slave master.

“I promise I’ll explain everything more when we arrive,” Sansa had said, eager to get off the phone and pack. And think of how they were going to pull this weekend off. She had refrained from telling them that they were engaged, hoping to be able to slip by that little detail. Sansa knew, however, it was more likely that that would be brought to light soon enough. How could she hide a marriage, even a fake one, from her family? They would figure it out eventually.

Sansa had pulled out her leather weekender bag from the closet and meticulously folded and unfolded clothes for the trip. She still had some clothes at home in Sitka, clothes that she had decided she would never wear in the city, that she could resort to should her packed wardrobe fail her. After she was sure everything was ready, she texted Sandor to let him know what time their flight was and what gate it should be. He was going to buy the ticket when he got to the airport, while Sansa chose to buy hers online.

She had tossed and turned all night, dreading the weekend, wishing for it to be over, but morning came and she dragged herself to the airport, and now here she sat, waiting for Sandor to show up. She fiddled with the strap of her bag anxiously. She had spent good chunks of time together with Sandor before, but it was always about business. They never discussed personal things. Unless it was little insignificant facts, like how he hated too much starch on his collars, how he liked his coffee, that he ate his steak rare, etc. They had each been given a packet full of questions from Mr. Baelish, questions that a couple in love and about to be married should know about each other. Sansa had only peeked at them so far, but it was enough to sink her heart. How were they going to memorize all of those in one short weekend?

A group of laughing exchange students passed by her, causing her to look up, and she saw Sandor walking towards her. The sight made Sansa’s mouth drop a little.

She had never seen him without a suit or dress clothes. He didn’t wear anything fancy, keeping to the simple white shirt and black jacket and pants with dark-colored ties, and it wasn’t unusual to see him on a particularly late night peeling off the jacket and rolling up his sleeves, giving a more disheveled appearance. But today, he wore a pair of dark-wash jeans and a grey t-shirt, which hugged his frame and accentuated his muscles. Sansa knew he was built, that was obvious enough from his size. Plus, she had snuck a look at his clothing when she picked up his dry cleaning. But to see him looking like this, casually walking through the airport, carrying a black Nike duffel bag over his shoulder so she could see the muscles in his arm flexing slightly from the angle…it made her swallow hard.

Her boss spotted her and walked over, and she squirmed when she realized that he, too, was studying her appearance. Sansa liked to be comfortable when traveling, so she had chosen her favorite skinny jeans, a striped tee from J-Crew (which she had discovered in a thrift store, thank you very much), and a navy blue cardigan. She hadn’t even given her choices a second thought, but now, seeing him scrutinize her, she felt like she should be dressed in a blouse and pencil skirt again.

Sandor paused in front of her. “Hi,” she said, feeling foolish. His mouth twitched as he nodded to her, and took a seat, plopping his bag next to him. “Ready to meet everyone?” Sansa asked, wondering why she was even bothering with conversation. Sandor crossed his arms. “I guess. You told them?” “Yes…they…were very surprised, so we can expect a lot of questions.” He grunted in response and continued to stare off into the distance. Sansa took a deep breath, remembering what she had rehearsed the night before.

“Sandor…you know, if you want this to work and sound convincing, you’re going to have to be…sociable. As in, friendly. As in…not acting like you’re about to kill everyone in sight.” Her boss’s head swiveled to look at her, and she cringed. He seemed to contemplate her words for a moment before shrugging. “I can do that.”

Sansa gave a noise of disbelief. “What? You don’t think I can do that? That I can be… _friendly_ , as you say?” It was her turn to shrug. “I think you can, but it’s going to require you to stop snacking on children while they dream.” He glowered at her, and she resisted the urge to cringe again. It was her favorite line from a book they had recently edited, and she knew he had picked up on her reference.

“Hmph…well, maybe _friendly_ is pushing it, but I can be civil,” he muttered. With a twinge, Sansa briefly wondered if she had hurt his feelings, but brushed it aside. It was his fault she was in this mess, she shouldn’t feel any sort of remorse for making sure he knew how much she resented this. “You’re the one that needs work,” Sandor continued. “I think you barely convinced that Mr. Baelish. If he hadn’t been so busy leering at you, I doubt he would’ve bought the story.” Sansa started and looked at him, aghast. “Leering? What?” Sandor chuckled dryly. “You didn’t notice? He was practically undressing you with his eyes, the creep.” Sansa shuddered slightly. She _had_ noticed, but had tried to forget it. What surprised her was that Sandor had noticed it as well, and he seemed…well, disgusted? Protective? “Why do you care?” she blurted, and instantly regretted the question.

Sandor pulled out his phone. “Don’t mistake my comment for fondness,” he rasped as he checked his emails. “I was merely pointing out the fellow is a creep. But he’s smart. You’ll have to do better this weekend with your family.” Sansa felt deflated for some reason.

They boarded the plane, and after take-off, Sandor pulled out the packet of questions, “We might as well look at these,” he said, waving them at her. Sansa groaned, wishing she could just put her earphones in and sleep, but she knew this needed to be done. “Fine.” She took out her own packet so she could follow along. “These are some stupid ass questions. What am I allergic to?” Sandor questioned. “Pine nuts, and the full spectrum of human emotion,” Sansa answered dully. Sandor’s lips curled back as he grimaced at her.

“Why don’t you stop being a bitchy little bird and take this seriously?” he fired back with a threatening growl. Sansa gaped at him, flushing with anger. “ _A bitchy little bird_?” He nodded, looking satisfied that he had hit her buttons. “Yes. You’re always chirping like a bird, and now you’re being bitchy. So you’re a bitchy little bird.” Sansa clenched her fists as they stared at each other with loathing. Finally she sighed, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “Alright. Fine. That was unnecessary. I apologize.” When she looked at him again she managed to see a quick flash of surprise cross his face before he settled back into his usual countenance.

“Hmph…well…” Sandor sighed, picking at the staple that held the papers together. Sansa rolled her eyes. _I guess that’s his version of accepting an apology._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that I made Baelish the immigration officer. I tried to pick a character that annoys me the most lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY that this took forever to update. I struggled with this chapter a lot for some reason, so I hope it came out okay. There are a lot of deviations from the movie in this, but some things will still be familiar if you have seen it. I also attached some pictures of the house from the movie so you can picture where they are. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

The two plane rides to Alaska seemed to take forever, yet when they finally touched down in Sitka, Sansa wished, wildly, that they still hadn’t arrived. This wasn’t supposed to be how she came back home for a visit, and she dreaded the moment when she would face her family and have to lie to them the entire visit about her relationship with Sandor.

The man in question wore a mask of indifference as they emerged from the tiny plane and walked down the stairs onto the tarmac. Besides going through the packet on the planes, they hadn’t spoken much. Sansa had curled up in her seat and tried to sleep, deciding she needed the energy, while Sandor had texted and emailed clients or stared into space. It mirrored the many business trips they had been on, and not at all like a couple traveling to meet soon-to-be in-laws. But Sansa had hung to the few hours of normalcy, before she would be forced to endure the pretense of a newly engaged woman, happily in love.

When they exited the plane, Sansa was relieved to see only her mother and Gammy were waiting for them behind the fence. “Sansa!” An older version of Sansa, Catelyn Stark moved toward them eagerly, and embraced her daughter in a warm hug. “Hi, Mom.” Pulling back, Catelyn smoothed her hair and smiled. Sansa turned her attention to Gammy and gave her a hug as well. “Hi, Gammy. It’s good to see you!” “It’s good to see you too, dear! I can’t wait to meet your boy…er…man…” Gammy had turned her attention to Sandor, who was standing behind Sansa holding his bag. “And you must be Sandor,” her mother greeted him pleasantly, extending a hand. “And you must be Mrs. Stark,” Sandor replied as he shook her hand. He looked a little surprised that Catelyn didn’t stare or show any reaction to his scars. Sansa watched the exchange, tensed, waiting for her mother to somehow figure out this was all a sham.

“Oh, you must call me Catelyn, everyone does!” her mother corrected him with a smile. “And this is my mother-” “You can call me Gammy as well,” the older woman interrupted as she took Sandor’s hand, looking him up and down appreciatively and giving Sansa a wink. “Nice to meet you,” Sandor said a little hesitantly as he glanced back and forth between Gammy and Sansa, who was blushing furiously. “We have the truck waiting in the lot. Let’s go!” Catelyn told them, and wrapped an arm around Sansa’s shoulders as they walked. Sansa couldn’t help but feel a pang in her chest. She really did miss her family, especially her mother, and she decided she would not let this fake engagement ruin her chance to enjoy being with them again.

The drive was mostly silent, save for Catelyn and Gammy exchanging bits of small talk. Sansa glanced at Sandor, who was sitting next to her in the backseat, and noticed that he was looking out the window with a furrowed brow. “Sansa,” he rasped quietly. “Why do all of these buildings have your last name on them?” He turned to her with a raised eyebrow, suspicion lacing his features. Sansa shifted uncomfortably. _Why does he always make me feel like I’ve done something wrong?_ “Oh, well…my family owns a lot of the businesses around here, that’s all,” she whispered, attempting to shrug casually. “I see.” A flicker of confusion entered his dark eyes for a moment, but it was gone before he turned back to the window.

They drove to the docks, and Sansa couldn’t help but feel a little smug as the confusion returned to Sandor’s face. “We have to take a boat to our home,” Catelyn explained cheerily. “It’s separate from the mainland.” Sandor nodded silence as they all climbed down a ladder to the lower dock where the elegant but small boat was tied. “Sansa, why are you carrying your bag? That’s your man’s job,” Gammy said with another wink. Sansa hesitated for a moment, then turned to Sandor with a beaming smile.

“You don’t mind, do you, honey?” She handed him her bag, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Sandor smirked and raised both their bags on one arm, letting his muscles flex.

“Not at all, little bird,” he rasped. Sansa blinked in surprise, both at the strange endearment and at how a warm flush spread across her cheeks as she observed his arm muscles at work. Gammy watched them mischievously and Sansa moved quickly to get into the boat.

She sat in the back, leaning against the comfy seats as Sandor dropped their bags and settled down next to her. It would seem strange if he sat elsewhere on the boat, she reflected. Her mother and grandmother stood closer to the front by the driver’s seat. Catelyn steered them out away from the harbor and slowly picked up speed as they entered the open water.

It was pleasant to be on the boat again. The cool, gentle spray flowed over the sides of the boat, and Sansa watched as the town grew smaller and smaller behind them. She glanced at Sandor, hoping to gauge his reaction to all of this, but he kept his face stoic and turned the other way, letting her quietly observe him, without really knowing why she bothered to do so. An uneasy feeling filled her as she saw a drop of water hit his neck and roll down into the collar of his shirt. She gulped and looked away, blushing.

They rounded a bend, and before them, nestled near the shoreline, was Winterfell. It was a gigantic wood and stone house that had been in the family for decades, and while it occasionally underwent renovations to keep it up-to-date, it still held a rustic cabin quality to it that Sansa loved. “Here we are!” Catelyn called over her shoulder, heading for the dock.

“ _That_ is your home?” Sandor finally spoke, the disbelief clear in his tone. “Mhm,” Sansa answered, smiling. He shook his head, taking in the view of the mansion, the large yard, and the spread of evergreen trees around and behind it. “Who are you people,” he muttered. _You’re about_ _to find out_ , Sansa thought as she saw her younger brother Rickon open the back door and run down the yard.

Catelyn pulled the boat up to the dock, and they got out. “Oh, Sansa, we invited some people over. You know, just to celebrate you coming home and all,” Catelyn announced suddenly. Her statement filled Sansa with dread. She and Sandor already had to convince her large family that they were in love; now they had to face people from town as well?

“Um, Mom…how many guests are we talking about?” As they reached the end of the dock, Sansa could now see silhouettes through the windows, and the sound of talking and laughing drifted towards them. Her hands began to sweat, and she could feel the agitation rolling off of Sandor. She knew him well enough to know that a large welcome home party was not the sort of the thing he would want to experience. It wasn’t what she wanted to experience either.

“Mom,” Sansa said, trying not to sound whiny. “I wish you had told me first…or asked me.” Catelyn and Gammy turned to look at her in surprise. “Why, honey, you love parties! And you’re going to be home for such a short time, I thought you’d like to see some of your old friends,” her mother answered. “They’re all excited to meet your new beau, too,” Gammy added with a wink. Sansa forced a strained smile in response, while Sandor merely followed in silence.

Rickon reached them before she could say anything else, and he threw his arms around her. “Sansa!” She laughed and hugged him back, gasping as he picked her up. “Rickon! You’re so tall! What have you been eating?” Her little brother was not so little anymore that was for sure. His shaggy, auburn hair stuck out in hopeless directions, and his bluish-grey eyes sparkled mischievously. “Spinach, like Popeye.” Sansa giggled at the joke, remembering how Rickon as a child had always declared that spinach was his mortal enemy.

Her brother’s eyes fixed on Sandor, who shifted their bags to one hand. “Rickon, this is Sandor, my…boyfriend.” She almost forgot she hadn’t mentioned their “engagement” to her parents. Yet.

Sandor and Rickon shook hands, then Gammy started urging them towards the house. “Rickon, could you take their bags upstairs?” Catelyn asked. Sandor hesitated, gripping their belongings. “I can do it.” “Oh, but you’re our guest! And this way you can meet everyone now,” Catelyn replied, unaware of the growing discomfort in his face. Rickon took their things and disappeared through the door.

As they followed, Sandor leaned down to whisper, “You didn’t tell them we’re engaged?” “No, I-” “You’re engaged?” Gammy cried out, making Sansa jump. Her grandma had better ears than cat.

“Ummm…” “Oh, this is so exciting! Why didn’t you say something? Catelyn, did you hear?”

Catelyn Stark looked surprised at the revelation, but she smiled and hugged Sansa, offering congratulations. “Don’t tell Dad yet,” Sansa begged her. “Or anyone else. We…wanted to tell just the family, first.” “Of course, honey. Oh, I’m just so happy! My daughter is getting married!” Her mom squeezed her hand, and Sansa forced a smile, making sure to “accidentally” stomp on Sandor’s foot as they walked up the porch stairs. He hissed and grumbled at her in response.

Their entrance into the house was just as Sansa expected and feared. It seemed as if the whole town was there, moving around in groups and eating various finger foods off of plastic plates. As soon as someone laid eyes on them, there were enthusiastic greetings and hugs, which she had to return in kind, despite the anxiety gnawing at her nerves. Sandor, for his part, remained polite as he inclined his head or shook hands, though he seemed a bit too stiff in Sansa’s opinion. It was worse when some people lacked the good manners to ignore his scars, and stared at him openly before saying hello. It bothered her more than she thought it would.

As they navigated through the kitchen with plates of food that had been shoved into their hands, Sansa touched his arm and stood on tiptoe to whisper, “I’m sorry, I had no idea they would do this.” Sandor’s dark eyes regarded her for a moment, but he only shrugged in response. Frustrated with his lack of communication, Sansa pursed her lips and looked away, moving towards the front rooms, with Sandor silently following her.

“Lemon cake!” Ned Stark appeared and pulled Sansa into an embrace. “Hey, Dad,” Sansa greeted, a little caught-off-guard by her father’s enthusiasm. When she had left for New York, she and Ned had had a bit of a falling out, and hadn’t spoken much to each other since then. It seemed silly now that Sansa thought about it, and she decided that if he was willing to put it behind them for this weekend, so was she.

“And this must be Sandor,” Ned continued, eyeing Sandor’s dark presence behind her. “Oh, yes. Sandor, this is my father, Ned. Dad, this is Sandor.”

The two men shook hands, clearly sizing each other up. “Welcome to our home, Sandor. I admit I was very surprised when I heard about you and Sansa. It’s rather…unexpected.” Sansa bit her lip, praying to the old gods and the new that Sandor wouldn’t say anything to arouse more of her father’s suspicion. “Love often is unexpected,” Sandor answered solemnly, wrapping an arm around Sansa’s waist.

His line was so obviously from a movie that Sansa had to muster all her will-power to suppress a laugh. Instead she smiled up at him, placing her hand on his back and leaning into his touch. She had a part to play, after all.

Ned glanced between the two of them thoughtfully. “Indeed. Well. I hope you enjoy your stay.” He sounded rather hesitant, and Sansa experienced a slight pang of panic, wondering if he actually believed their façade. The best choice of action was distraction.

“Dad? Not to be rude or anything, but…is there any way all these people can leave now? I mean, Sandor and I are very tired from traveling all day and it’s kind of a lot to handle at the moment.”

Before Ned could answer, Gammy materialized next to them. “Sansa, when are you going to tell us how you were engaged?” Sandor stiffened next to her, and Ned’s mouth fell open in shock. “What?” he spluttered.

* * *

 

An hour later, the house was empty save for the Starks and Sandor. They were gathered in the living room, the members of the family taking up spots on various couches and easy-chairs. The room was bright with the late evening sun drifting through the windows of the double French doors, and Sansa shifted so a ray of light wouldn’t be shining in her eyes.

Sandor sat next to her on the love-seat, his large frame occupying most of it, and she could feel the tension radiating off of him in waves; the man was clearly ill-equipped to navigate the looming discussion with any kind of delicacy, and Sansa knew most of this was going to fall upon her shoulders. Sandor’s jaw was clenched, though with anger or determination, she could not tell.

She had introduced to him to her older brothers Robb and Jon, who, like their father, remained wary and aloof as they all piled onto one couch and stared at them. Apparently, they had remembered their roles as older brothers, and seemed hell-bent on establishing some sort of dominance and intimidation towards Sandor, the intrusive addition to their little sister’s life. The fact that Sandor could easily fight off all of them made the situation even more ridiculous. Her brothers might be strong and younger, but Sansa knew Sandor didn’t visit a gym and boxing ring four times a week for nothing.

The younger ones, Bran and Rickon, sat near each other. Rickon had an expression of amusement on his face as his eyes darted around to the other members of his family; he obviously expected some kind of show-down. Bran sat in his wheelchair with his hands folded, quietly observing behind his thick rimmed glasses, as he always did.

Arya was flopped down in an easy-chair, her legs dangling off the side of the arm-rest. She had drifted in as the guests were leaving, so she was the one most out of the loop. Her dark hair a grown a little longer, though still cut in choppy layers, and she had dyed the ends a dark purple. There was no telling where she had been earlier, but from the faint smell of car grease wafting from her flannel shirt when she hugged Sansa, she guessed her sister had been with Gendry, a mechanic who lived in town. Arya’s eyes studied Sandor with a bored sort of interest, like she didn’t really care who he was or why he was here, if he stayed or left.

Sansa’s father sat in his easy-chair at the other end of the room, watching her and Sandor with undisguised confusion, worry, and the hint of suspicion from earlier. Catelyn appeared, having said goodbye to the last lingering guest, and took a place by Gammy, who looked ready burst with joy.

“So, sweetie…” Catelyn started after clearing her throat. “Maybe you should tell us how this all…happened.” Her poor mother was clearly trying to put them at ease and lighten the situation, but Sansa’s frayed nerves were only sent into overdrive. “Oh, well. I guess…it just kind of, you know, _happened_.” “Yes, but _how_? We thought you hated him! Why, I think I remember you calling him ‘Hell’s Gatekeeper’ once,” Gammy inquired. Sandor leveled a heavy gaze at her, and Sansa felt her cheeks redden. “Um…it was a bad day?” she offered weakly.

Sensing this was spiraling into a disaster, Sandor finally spoke up. “We’ve been working together for a while now. Sansa’s my assistant, so we spend a lot of time together.” He grabbed her hand, a little tighter than necessary, and continued. “And somewhere in all of that, we fell in love. It’s not that complicated.” Sandor’s straightforward, to the point answer, combined with his raspy and gruff voice, made Sansa cringe as she waited for her family to descend into protests and call for further explanations.

No one answered as all eyes turned to Ned, who stroked his chin silently as he seemed to digest Sandor’s words. “Alright,” he answered calmly. “You want your privacy, I understand.” His eyes twinkled then, settling on Sansa for a moment before moving to match Sandor’s. “We are a close-knit family, Clegane. We know everything about each other. It’s only natural that we would want to know how our daughter fell in love and became engaged to her boss, of whom we assumed she disliked greatly.”

“But,” he continued as Sansa opened her mouth, “I trust my daughter, and I am sure she is using good judgment in this next phase of her life.” Sansa’s stomach clenched as she tried hard not to squirm under her father’s gaze. _I’m such a bad liar, he knows something is wrong._

“Enough serious talk!” Gammy butted in. “We should be celebrating! Sansa finally found a husband!” She clapped her hands, and Sansa blushed as her siblings laughed. They all knew about her bad luck with guys in the past, but it wasn’t as if she was an old maid or something.

Catelyn stood up. “I’ll show you to your room,” she offered, and Sansa jumped up, thankful to escape the stares from the rest of her family. Sandor and Gammy followed them up the stairs to the second floor.

Her mother led them to a large guest room, and Sansa almost balked, realizing that they assumed she and Sandor already shared a bed and it would be normal for them to share a bedroom while they were visiting. And objecting might make them suspicious. _Oh no._ “Here we are!” Catelyn announced cheerily. The room was spacious and clean, with a small fire already crackling in the stone hearth, wood floors, and a neatly made bed. Their bags were set by the large oak closet.

“Thanks, Mom, this is nice,” Sansa responded faintly. Out of the corner of her she watched Sandor survey the room, his eyes falling to the one bed. Gammy moved forward and picked up an ornate, multi-colored quilt from the small sofa at the foot of the bed. Turning to Sandor, she smiled and held it out.

“This is a very special quilt. Our family has passed it down for generations. It’s said to have certain powers!” Sandor took it hesitantly and asked, “What kind of powers?”

“We call it the baby-maker!” Gammy answered excitedly. Sansa face palmed while Sandor gaped at her grandmother for a moment. “Oh…well, we’ll just be really careful with that,” he said, hastily depositing the quilt back on the sofa.

At that moment a small, white fluffy ball of fur came bouncing into the room, yapping. “What the hell?” Sandor muttered, staring at it. “Oh, this is Kevin!” Catelyn exclaimed, sweeping the small dog into her arms. “He is, or was, the newest member of the family.” The puppy barked happily in affirmation. “Oh, he’s so cute!” Sansa added, ruffling his fur and receiving many licks for her attention.

“He is, isn’t he? But we have to be careful not to let him outside unsupervised, because a hawk might carry him off,” Gammy informed them.

“Good night, sweetie. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?” Catelyn said, giving Sansa a hug and squishing Kevin between them. “Right. Good night, Mom. Good night, Gammy.” “Good night,” Gammy said with a wink and shuffled out of the room, followed by Catelyn, who gave them both a quick smile and shut the door behind her.

Finally alone, Sansa let out a huge sigh and dropped onto the sofa, covering her eyes with her hand.

“That was extremely weird,” Sandor pointed out, folding his arms as he dropped the fiancé charade and became her boss from hell once more. “Tell me about it,” Sansa muttered. They were in silence for a few moments before Sandor cleared his throat and went to his bag. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he told her. Sansa was a little surprised. She’d half expected him to make _her_ sleep on the floor, or at least the couch. “Oh…okay.”

They took turns using the bathroom to change into pajamas. Sansa had not anticipated having to share a room with Sandor, so she had only brought a short pair of flannel bottoms and an old t-shirt that was too small, showing a nice sliver of her stomach. Even though they were in Alaska and the nights were cooler, Winterfell was always warm and Sansa preferred to snuggle up with blankets anyways. Hoping Sandor wouldn’t make comments on her attire, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, then slipped back out into the other room.

Sandor was laying out some blankets on the carpet at the foot of the bed. He glanced up when she walked out, his gaze lingering entirely too long, in her opinion, as she tried to walk nonchalantly to the bed. “Your turn,” she hinted. He stood wordlessly and took some stuff into the bathroom. Sansa sighed and crawled under the covers, arranging the pillows behind her, and tossed a couple towards Sandor's make-shift bed. She plugged her phone in to charge and settled back as the bathroom door opened.

Sandor was bare-chested, wearing only grey pajama pants, and Sansa could not keep her jaw from dropping a little. She knew Sandor was fit, but this…He looked like a body-builder. Every inch of his chest, shoulders, and stomach were toned and muscled, complete with a scattering of dark hair.

She must have stared too long, for he met her gaze and chuckled. “See something you like, little bird?” Her face flushed red and her hands started to sweat. “N-no, I just…why…why are you not…I mean…I wasn’t expecting…” He barked a rough laugh at her so she scowled and rolled onto her side. “One would think you’ve never seen a man without a shirt before,” Sandor commented, still snickering as he lowered himself to the floor. “Of course I have,” she spat angrily, “Just not my _boss_.”

The sun was still shining through the windows and Sansa smirked as she heard him cursing and moving around on the floor. “Well, I guess we won’t be getting any sleep anyways,” he growled in frustration. Sansa picked up a small remote from the bedside table and hit a button. Shades slowly rolled down the windows, blocking out the sun and leaving the room in darkness save for the firelight. “Clever,” Sandor muttered.

“Good night,” Sansa called out after a minute, and hearing no reply, she rolled over again and tried to go to sleep, hoping that when she woke up, this would all be just a dream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes....I knooowwww....they haven't kissed yeeeettttt....I have something planned for that, don't worry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting....interesting *evil cackle*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooooo sorry this took so long. It's the same old excuse, life has been hectic, but I feel really bad for letting this go for so long. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Please be aware that this chapter is all sorts of silly.

Despite sleeping on the floor, Sandor found that he slept better than he could have expected, even though he stayed awake long after Sansa fell asleep. At least he assumed she had fallen asleep, since she made no attempt at conversation with her usual nervous chatter. As for himself, the long flights, the stress of having to keep up a sickening appearance in front of Sansa’s family, and future plans kept him from gaining any real rest until after midnight.

Since the shades were still down come morning, what woke Sandor up was not the sun, but the familiar shrill ringing of a cell phone. His cell phone.

With a grunt, he raised up on his elbows and peered around blearily, searching for his phone. It was plugged into a socket by the dresser, so he stood and walked over to grab it. Once he saw the caller id, he quickly swiped the screen and held it eagerly to his ear. “Hello?” The voice on the other line answered, confirming that it was Frank, the nervous, camera-shy author who had agreed to appear on Oprah.

“Hi, Frank. Yes…yes…wait…” Sandor gritted his teeth. The fool was actually trying to back out of going on Oprah!

“Frank, listen to me…can you hear me?”

A loud groan came from the bed, and in the dim lighting Sandor watched as a tousled red-head popped out from under the quilt. “Sandor!” she scolded, then threw a pillow at him.

Surprised by her actions, Sandor left the room without bothering to snap back at her. After all, he had more important business to take care of with Frank.

“Hold on, I’m going outside so I can get better service.” Sandor crept down the hall, the flight of stairs, and moved quietly through the kitchen to the sliding glass doors that led out into the yard. A little puff of white trotted out of nowhere and followed him, yapping playfully and Sandor tried to avoid it so he could hear the phone call.

“Frank? Don’t hang up! Listen to me, I know you haven’t done an interview like this in a while, but I think it could be really good for your name, and…” Sandor trailed off to listen to Frank’s piss-poor response and excuses, gritting his teeth at being interrupted.

At the same time, a strange squawk was heard from above, and Sandor glanced up to see a rather large hawk land in a tree and watch them with interest.

He glanced down at Kevin, who was sniffing at something in the grass, blissfully unaware.

He glanced back at the hawk, which had now spread its feathers.

“Uh…no, I’m still here…” Momentarily distracted, Sandor looked away and failed to see the hawk take flight until it had swooped down and grasped Kevin in its claws.

“Frick! No, Frank, not you! Hold on!” Sandor started running, chasing the hawk as it began to ascend back into the sky, Kevin yowling and squirming in its grip. “Come back, damn you!”

He was losing them. After a split second of hesitation, Sandor flung his phone as hard as he could, and it connected perfectly with the hawk.

The bird of prey dropped Kevin, and the small dog fell into Sandor’s arms, yapping. Sandor sighed in relief, then a bolt of panic struck him as he searched around for his phone.

“Where…where is it?” He looked back up and saw the bird flying away, his phone tucked neatly in its talons.

“No! Bring it back!” Sandor could only imagine what Frank was thinking. He might have cancelled Oprah altogether.

“Come back, you stupid bird! Here, take the dog back!” Sandor lifted Kevin into the air, shouting at the hawk.

 

* * *

 

After being rudely awoken by Sandor and his phone, Sansa knew going back to sleep would be fruitless, so she got up and stretched, making her way to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.

It was a little chilly in the room since the fire had turned to low embers, so she shrugged on a wooly robe and sauntered downstairs to the kitchen, where she saw her mother and Gammy watching something out the window.

"Good morning,” she greeted, eyeing the coffeepot that was busily brewing. “Good morning, Sansa. Look! Sandor is playing with Kevin!” Gammy announced. Confused, Sansa walked over and saw her boss standing in the yard in his pjs, still shirtless, and holding Kevin in the air.

“He’s so muscular,” Gammy marveled, and Sansa almost choked. “Gammy!” “Well?”

With a roll of her eyes, Sansa pulled open the door and shut it behind her. Something told her that Sandor wasn’t really “playing” with Kevin. She padded across the lawn to where he was now standing still, staring at the sky with thunder in his eyes.

“Sandor? What’s going on?”

He whirled around, and Sansa swallowed as she took in his well-sculpted chest. _Why couldn’t he have put a shirt on?_

“I’ll tell you what’s going on!” he barked, finally dropping Kevin and the little pup flew up to the porch.

“The damn hawk took the damn dog, so I threw my phone at it, and now it has my damn phone!”

Sansa stared at him. “How does that even happen?”

“Hell if I know! And I was on the phone with Frank, who’s probably going to cancel Oprah because he’s acting like a winy baby and will think I hung up on him!” Sandor’s face was turning red, and Sansa let out a sigh. She had seen him in moods like this, and while normally she would have made herself as small as possible and avoided him, this was not the time for Sandor to lose his temper.

“Ok, well, we’ll call town and order you a phone to use, okay? Now quit shouting. My mother and Gammy are watching us, and it looks like we are having a fight.”

Sandor immediately swallowed and clenched and unclenched his fists, visibly trying to calm down.

Sansa couldn’t say what made her do what happened next, but it wasn’t something she could regret afterwards.

“We should probably hug, so they know we aren’t mad at each other,” she suggested, moving to stand closer to him with her arms raised hesitantly.

Her boss blinked at her, suspicion flitting across his features as he narrowed his eyes. Then his mouth twitched mischievously as he closed the space and wrapped his arms around her.

Sansa felt a rush of heat and nervous tingles as she felt his bare skin under fingertips. Even though it was chilly outside, he felt warm, and she soaked it in through her robe and pajamas. She had never hugged someone so much taller and bigger than her, and the feel of his hard chest and muscles under her touch made her pulse quicken.

Suddenly Sandor’s hand slid down her back and gave her bottom a quick, hard squeeze.

It took all of her willpower not to jump away from him in surprise, remembering at the last second that her mother and Gammy were probably still watching. Sansa was, however, unable to suppress a squeal at his lingering hand.

“Why did you do that?” she hissed, half-wondering why they hadn’t let go of each other yet. Sandor turned his head, and she shivered at as his warm breath caressed her ear and cheek.

“Just trying to being convincing.” Sansa snorted and pulled away from him, frowning and blushing. “I-well…you….” Sandor smirked and turned her towards the house, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Come on, _sweetheart_ , I want to eat breakfast.”

Dumbstruck, Sansa let him lead her into the kitchen while her mind scrambled to process the fact that her boss, her grumpy, mean, blackmailing boss, had just grabbed her butt and was completely unashamed about it. _I wonder if we should have laid some ground rules about physical contact_ , she mused as she began helping Catelyn prepare some eggs and toast.

“Honey, Gammy and I were talking, and…well…” Her mother bit her lip, looking somehow shy. Sansa quirked an eyebrow, but Gammy interrupted before Catelyn could continue.

“How would you like to get married this weekend, here?”

Sansa dropped her fork as Sandor choked on his coffee. “What?” They both exclaimed simultaneously. Gammy pressed on, seemingly unaware of the horror on both of their faces.

“Yes! It’s the perfect time! We are all here together, and to be honest dear, I may not live long enough to see your wedding if you put it off for too long!”

Sansa felt frozen as she let the proposal sink in. A glance at her smiling and hopeful mother proved that Gammy wasn’t alone in this.

She turned to Sandor, who was shifting in his seat and obviously trying to hold back his temper. “Doesn’t a wedding take time to prepare, and all that stuff?” he asked gruffly.

“Oh, you two don’t need to worry, we’ll take care of everything,” Gammy responded with a wave of her hand. “You can have it in the barn!”

“Sansa,” Catelyn finally interjected softly. “I know its short notice, but it would mean a lot to us if you said yes. At least think about it?”

Sansa swallowed hard, thinking. “Um…maybe Sandor and I should talk about -” “We’ll do it,” her boss interrupted, giving Catelyn and Gammy a tight smile while he nudged her foot under the table. “Perfect!” Gammy exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“What’s perfect?” Robb asked, entering the kitchen with Jon and Rickon in tow. “Sansa and Sandor have decided to get married here, this weekend!” Gammy informed them.

“Oh?” Robb sent them a grin. “Well I guess that means a Bachelor party is in order, right?” Sansa felt Sandor stiffen beside her, but she had no sympathy for the position he was now in.

“Don’t worry, Sansa, we’ll keep an eye on him,” Robb said with wink; he clearly had misinterpreted the miserable expression on her face.

“Have fun,” Sansa said weakly as her brothers ushered Sandor out of the kitchen, talking about guns and deer and hunting with smug smiles, and Sandor threw an almost desperate glance at her over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner. Sansa could only shrug helplessly as she took a sip of juice. _You’re on your own now, bud_.

“Well, if the boys are having a Bachelor party for your man, you have to have a Bachelorette party too!” Gammy exclaimed. “I’ll call Margaery and Jeyne!” Catelyn added, going for the phone.

 _Oh no_ , Sansa thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long to update! Hopefully the content will ease my starved readers, as this chapter contains two scenes that I know many of you have been eagerly awaiting. 
> 
> Also, I know next to nothing about hunting, so I have no idea if the amount of game Sandor snags is at all realistic or plausible. 
> 
> Enjoy!

A couple hours later, Sansa found herself being herded towards The Crab Shack. She stared up at the building doubtfully, trying to keep down the bubbling anxiety stirring in her stomach.

“The Crab Shack?” she asked. “Here?” “Yes, here,” Arya answered with a quick snap of her gum while she moved her eyebrows up and down. “This place is perfect for what we have in mind, especially with this all being such short notice.”

They were greeted inside the dim restaurant by Margaery and Jeyne, who squealed and gushed over Sansa’s engagement. “Where’s the ring?” Marg asked, her eyes lighting up as she grabbed Sansa’s hand.

Sansa had a moment of panic. She hadn’t even thought about the ring! And since nobody in her family had yet to mention it, the missing item had gone completely beneath her notice. “Oh…ah…well, it’s back in New York…getting sized,” she replied nervously, hoping beyond hope this was a good enough excuse.

The girls seemed to accept it, though they looked surprised that Sansa didn’t even have a picture on her phone, and they badgered her for a description.

“Hurry up! C’mon!” Arya hissed, reappearing at their side and dragging Sansa towards a table front and center of a…stage of some sort.

Oh, that was right. The Crab Shack occasionally had bawdy, drunken karaoke nights, and had built a stage specifically for that purpose, complete with shabby curtains recycled from the elementary school’s theatre. They were closed now and the stage dark.

A plastic, shimmery tiara was placed on Sansa’s head, silver in color since she was the bride, and the other girls placed purple or pink tiaras on their heads, except for Arya, who sneered at the girlish accessory even if it was just for fun.

They were given beers and crab legs, on the house, apparently, and Sansa slowly began to relax into the easy conversations of her old friends and sister. They did most of the talking, which gave Sansa plenty of time to work up more stories to tell about her and Sandor, should the need arise.

Other women from the island arrived, offering their congratulations before finding seats at other tables.

“So, Sansa, tell us about your man,” Marg asked with a wink. “I heard he’s gigantic.”

Jeyne choked on her beer and wheezed out something between a giggle and a snort.

Sansa flushed but managed to remain calm. “Well, yes, he’s very tall, and rather muscular.”

Marg nodded slowly, grinning. “Uh-huh, what else?” “Well…”

Before she could answer, the oldies music that had been playing in the background stopped, and a loud bass beat began as the lights dimmed even more. A spotlight appeared and shone down on the stage, moving in a slow circle.

“Alright!” Arya exclaimed, kicking her feet up on another chair and settling back.

“Uh, Arya, what’s going on?” Sansa asked, sweat beading across her forehead as Frankie Goes to Hollywood began playing.

“What every Bachelorette party needs, of course!” Marg answered for her sister, laughing.

The music resonated louder, and suddenly, from behind the curtains, appeared a man.

He was tall, muscular but trim, and wore only a bow-tie, loose black pants, and white cuffs. He had shoulder length red hair with a white strip near the front, and a handsome face that very clearly stated he was up to no good.

The restaurant erupted with clapping, cat-calls, and cheering from the women as the man began dancing to the song. Sansa stared in frozen horror, unable to comprehend the fact that her sister had arranged a stripper for her Bachelorette party.

“Arya!” she hissed, grabbing her sister’s shoulder. “What is this? You’re having Jaqen _strip_?!”

Arya, who had joined in with the hooting and hollering, turned to reply, “What’s the big deal? Just loosen up and have some fun, Sansa. I got Jaqen to do this for free, so you better enjoy it!” Sansa facepalmed as Arya shrugged off her hand and raised a fist in the air, cheering on her friend.

“Why is this happening to me,” Sansa asked herself, feeling so embarrassed she wanted to crawl under the table in hide.

Unluckily for her, the worst part was yet to come.

At some point in the song, Jaqen ripped his pants off to reveal black underwear, tossing the remains of his trousers into the crowd, and Sansa stared in disgust as her friends and some of the other women tackled each other for a piece.

Then the spotlight swung around and landed on her, and she blinked irritably, holding her hand up to shield her eyes, and saw Jaqen beckoning for her to join him on stage.

“Oh, no…no…” “Go, Sansa!” Marg giggled, and her friends took her byt the arms and began dragging her towards the stage.

“No, you guys, stop, this isn’t funny!” But despite her protests, Sansa found herself seated on a chair (where had it come from?) on the stage with Jaqen giving her a smirk. He was way too close for her comfort, especially since he was wearing almost nothing, but the mortification was not yet over.

As he danced provocatively nearby, Arya stood up on a chair and called out, “Slap his ass!”

Sansa glared out at her sister, but the rest of the room seemed invigorated by the idea and began chanting, “Slap his ass! Slap his ass!” She turned her horrified look to Jaqen, but if she thought he might have some mercy on her, she was out of luck. Instead, he turned around and practically shoved his butt in her face, waiting for the slap.

Sansa summoned the last of her frazzled nerves and, cringing in her seat, she gave his bottom a quick slap, praying that an earthquake or an equally devastating disaster would suddenly happen and save her from this humiliation.

The woman whooped and hollered and clapped while Jaqen continued to dance good-naturedly. Sansa uncoiled from her almost-fetal position in the chair and crept off the stage, heading for the bathroom and holding her hand away from the rest of her body as if she had touched something dead.

Sansa Stark could be fun, have a few laughs, but after everything she had been out through already, having to slap her one of her sister’s best friend’s asses was not how she had expected to spend her Bachelorette party. She wondered if Sandor was having any worse of a time than she was.

Reaching the bathroom, which was thankfully empty, Sansa began to vigorously scrub her hands with all the soap she could squeeze from the dispenser; anything to get the feeling of Jaqen’s oily skin off her fingers.

* * *

 

Sandor had never been so relieved to return to the Stark home.

He had spent the entire morning haphazardly having some sort of buggering “bonding time” with Sansa’s brothers, and now that he could see the dock and the large stone house, he wanted nothing more than to escape into the bedroom and be alone.

The Stark boys were the most outdoorsy people Sandor had ever been around in a very long time. With all their hunting gear equipped and ready to go, they looked like they stepped out of a frickin’ advertisement for Bass Pro. He had to give it to them though: the boys, while confident and sure of themselves, were also very skilled and could back up all their talk.

At the beginning of their little expedition, to say that they were taunting Sandor was a bit of an understatement. They clearly had no idea that Sandor had grown up in the wilderness of Canada and hunting was as natural to him as popping off the cap of an ice cold beer on a hot summer day. They expected him to be some unexperienced city boy, all stiff and stuffy, so Sandor decided to let them believe it at first. Having a couple laughs and jeers at his expense would be worth it when Sandor finally showed them what he was truly capable of.

Robb and Jon, the older ones, were eager to analyze and size up the man who was engaged to their sister, and probably establish whether he was worthy of her based off of his outdoor savviness, or something stupid like that. Sandor found he had no problem proving his “manliness”, or whatever it was that these twerps were looking for.

He wondered if Sansa’s past boyfriends had been given the same treatment.

Not long into their hunt, the snickers and jibes began to fade form the boys’ faces, and instead they exchanged surprised glances when Sandor easily took down three deer, a handful of rabbits, and even a couple of squirrels without a bat of an eye. The place they were hunting was open season for population control, and while the boys had no real problems bagging their own targets, the differences in skill and technique were clearly visible. Sandor watched with satisfaction as the looks of disbelief on their faces turned to ones of grudging respect, and even admiration. The last made him a bit uncomfortable, for Sandor was not used to being looked at with anything but fear, disgust, or business-like politeness.

What also made him uncomfortable was the fact that he actually enjoyed being with these boys. Just a little.

As Robb pulled the boat up to the dock, the late afternoon sun shone pleasantly across the water and spilled onto the front yard. They grabbed all the hunting gear (having dropped off their game already to the local butcher’s) and headed for the garage to put it away.

Inside the kitchen, Mrs. Stark was speaking frantically to her husband, who was sitting on the couch attempting to watch a game. They stopped when Sandor came in, but he thought he heard them mention Sansa. “Oh, hello, Sandor,” Catelyn’s tense face broke out into a smile. “Did you have a good time with the boys?”

“Ah, yes, thanks. It’s been a while since I’ve been hunting,” Sandor replied, feeling even grimier as he stood in the neat and clean kitchen. “I think I’m going to go upstairs and take a shower.” Catelyn nodded encouragingly, and after Sandor rounded the corner and was hidden from sight, he paused to hear if they resumed their previous conversation.

“Now, I will not have you upsetting Sansa anymore, Ned!” Catelyn began, her voice more hushed but still firm. “I’m sick of this rift that’s been between you two! She hardly ever visits, and Heaven forbid they have any grand-children that we never get to see! You’re going to fix this. Now!”

Sandor’s brow furrowed. Sansa and her father weren’t getting along? He hadn’t really noticed anything unusual between them the night before, but then again, he had also been putting all of his focus and energy into convincing the family he loved their eldest daughter. Not much room left for taking note of anything else.

Fishing his iPod out of his pocket and placing the earbuds in his ears, he left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to the bedroom, relieved when he saw it was empty. Sansa must still be out.

Walking to the window where he could see the side of the yard and the spread of the river, Sandor began stripping out of his dirty, sweaty clothes.

 

* * *

 

Sansa had been taking the most wonderful, relaxing shower. Sandor was not back from hunting with her brothers, so she took advantage of the alone time to wash off and collect herself after the events of that morning and afternoon…including the disagreement with her father.

When they returned from The Crab Shack, Sansa had been called over to talk by Ned, who was sitting beside a canoe that the two of them had begun but never finished before she moved to New York.

After a few polite exchanges, Ned had launched, again, into his speech of how he thought Sansa needed to come home, and how he thought staying in the city was a mistake. “Sansa, you’ve been there three years. What have you got to show for it, honey? It’s time to come home.”

Sansa was already not in the mood to be having this discussion, and she couldn’t understand why her father would not just leave her be. “I’ve worked really hard, Dad! This is what I am meant to do! Sure it’s not easy all the time, but…” And on it went.

Then the suspicious nature of her engagement was brought up. “I just don’t understand it, Sansa,” Ned said wearily. “You’ve always complained about him! I thought you hated the man! And now you turn up here with him, and you’re _engaged_?”

A part of Sansa wanted to confess and tell her father everything, but a bigger part of her said no. She would not give her father or anyone else the satisfaction of saying “I told you so”, along with all the other statements of how she never should have gone to New York in the first place.

Instead, she shut Ned down and fled into the house, feeling horrible, miserable, and tired. A shower was just the ticket she needed to pull herself together and figure things out. She would apologize to her father later.

Shutting the water off and squeezing the extra water from her hair, Sansa stepped out and wiped the steam off the mirror, then looked around, shivering, for a towel.

“Oh, drat! I forgot!” There were no towels in the bathroom except hand ones. The bigger towels were kept in a closet in the bedroom.

With a groan of frustration, Sansa opened the door a crack, glancing out to make sure the bedroom door was closed and no one would see her streaking across the room to get a towel.

The coast clear and the cold air making her shiver, Sansa darted from the bathroom, turning to the closet, and smacked face first into something very tall, very big, and very…bare.

The wind knocked out of her from such a collision, Sansa barely had time to glance up from the naked, hairy chest pressed against her face to a pair of very wide, startled, and all too familiar grey eyes, before the both of them lost their footing and collapsed to the floor.

She was on top of Sandor. A very naked Sandor.

It was only appropriate that she begin screaming.

He must have felt the same, for he joined in by letting out a roar and pushing her off.

They scrambled away from each other, Sansa searching desperately for cover while she screamed, “Why are you naked?!” while Sandor shouted “Why are you wet?!”

Sansa flopped over to the side of the bed, grabbing a blanket to herself before she realized what it was. “No, not the baby maker!” She threw it away and grabbed another blanket, crying out when she mistakenly glanced over at Sandor again, and threw a pillow at him. “Cover it up! You’re showing everything!”

Sandor ripped a towel from the closet and place it around his waist, saying something that sounded like, “I don’t understand, why are you wet?!”

Now that they were both covered and the initial shock had worn off, Sansa could feel herself turn red and shaky with embarrassment, as if she had not suffered enough that day. “What are you doing here? I thought you were out hunting? Why are you naked? Didn’t you hear me in the bathroom?”

Sandor looked just as out-off as she was. His face had turned a shade of crimson and his eyes were wide and dark and he glared down at her cowering by the bed.   


“We came back, I was going to take a shower! I was listening to music…What were you doing running through the room naked?”

“I was TRYING to get a towel!!” Sansa screeched in frustration. They glared at each other for a few more moments before Sandor turned and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Sansa let out a huff and dropped her face into the bedspread, groaning.

That night she slipped under the covers while Sandor took up his spot at the end of the bed on the floor. The awkwardness between them had lasted throughout dinner, and Sansa was worried it would make her family suspicious, but they all seemed tired or preoccupied as well, so when they retired early for the evening no one seemed to think it was out of the ordinary.

The bedroom was silent save for the crackling from the fire place, until Sandor murmured in that deep, grating voice of his, “So….naked.”

Images of his strong muscular body the heat of his skin against hers flashed through Sansa’s mind, and she blushed, pulling the blankets up to her chin like a little girl. “Can we not talk about that, please?”

“I’m just saying,” he responded, and she could tell he was smirking while he said it. _Jerk, he probably enjoyed it._

A few more moments of silence stretched between them before Sandor spoke again. “So, what’s up with you and your dad?”

Sansa sighed loudly and clicked her tongue. “Oh, I’m sorry, that question was not in the packet.”

She heard him shift around on the floor. “Well, I just…wondered. Seems like things are a little tense.”

“Please drop it, okay, Sandor?” she pleaded. “Alright, alright. Touchy,” he answered.

“What happened at your Bachelorette party?”

Sansa groaned and covered her face. “My sister got her friend to…strip on a stage, and they made me slap his butt.”

Sandor said nothing, but after a few moments he sat up and peered over the edge of the bed at her. “You did what?”

The ridiculousness of it all finally getting to her, Sansa giggled, nodding in confirmation. “Yup.”

Sandor’s roar of laughter made her jump, but instead of feeling affronted she laughed along with him, and as they began to drift back into a more comfortable quiet, she found herself wanting to him more instead of going to sleep, and the thought disturbed her.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At laaaassssttt! I’m so excited to get this chapter out! Let me know what you think!
> 
> There will only be two chapters left of this fic. Thank you all so much for sticking with me through this, and giving me sweet comments and kudos. Special shout-out to Littlefeather, who gave me the encouragement I needed to get back into writing this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This picks up right where the last chapter ended.

 

A log shifted in the fireplace, and just as Sansa decided that there would probably be no more conversation and she should try to sleep, Sandor’s voice cut through the quiet room, his normally loud, barking tone lowered to deep rasp that made Sansa’s heart flutter strangely.

“I got my scars when I was seven.”

Sansa froze, her hands gripping the edge of the blanket. Sandor had never, ever mentioned how he received his scars. Plenty of rumors about them circulated the office, but no one knew the truth. Why was he telling her?

“My first concert was Metallica,” he continued after a moment. “Joined the army when I was eighteen, stayed in until I was 29. I hate Shakespeare.”

Sansa blinked, realizing that he was purposefully sharing pieces of his life with her…things he probably did not tell anyone. While she herself had closed off. How the tables turned.

For some reason, tears pricked her eyes as she listened eagerly, curiously, for more.

“Last time I had sex was a year ago.” Sansa squirmed, feeling embarrassed. He didn’t have to share that! She tried to ignore the queer little pang of jealousy at the thought of Sandor in the embrace of another woman.

“And I’m thinking about adopting a dog from this shelter downtown.”

Neither of them spoke for a while, but she heard Sandor shift on the floor. “You there?” he asked. She cleared her throat. “Yea…just…processing.” He grunted in response.

“Did you get into publishing right after the army?” she asked softly, unsure of how much he wanted to tell her. “Pretty soon after.” He paused. “It was my sister’s wish.”

Sansa almost sat up. “I didn’t know you have a sister,” she said, trying to keep her voice down. “Does she live in New York?”

“She’s dead.”

Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. “Oh, Sandor, I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” For a minute Sansa worried that he might shut himself away again, that she had hit too sore of a spot and it ruined any chance of her getting to know him more.

“She always wanted to work with books,” she heard Sandor mutter. “It was her dream to have the Clegane name in publishing. I guess as a way to give us a reputation for something other than what my brother made for us.”

He had a brother too? Sandor had never mentioned him either. She wondered if he was dead as well.

Sandor had stopped talking, but Sansa questioned gently, “So you entered the business for her?”

He gave an affirmative grunt, and Sansa pressed her hands to her heart, letting out a breath. How tragic and sweet, sad and beautiful!

“Sandor…that was a lovely thing to do. I’m sure that would have made her really happy,” she told him sincerely. He did not answer, but the silence told Sansa that he was probably uncomfortable and wished to not speak of it any longer.

“Good night.”

“Good night, little bird.”

Sansa drifted to sleep, wondering how she had never seen this side of Sandor Clegane before.

* * *

 

A series of sharp knocks and a “Yoo-hoo! Are you two lovebirds awake?” jolted Sansa out of her pleasant cocoon of blankets. Blinking stupidly, she stared at the door, then gasped, realizing that if they walked in and saw Sandor sleeping on the floor, they would suspect trouble in paradise.

“Sandor,” she hissed. His rumbling snore continued. Sansa grabbed a pillow and chucked it at his head, and he awoke with a growl and sat up, glaring at her.

“Get in the bed!” she whispered, “Hurry!” The knocking started again as Sandor rose and leaped into the bed, realizing their predicament. Sansa tried to settle the blankets around them prettily, grimacing when she saw the dreaded pattern of the baby maker and she shoved it off onto the floor. In an effort to look like a couple really in love, they tried to settle against each other under the covers, Sansa pressing her back to his stomach, but _something_ made her jump and pull away.

“What is _that_?” she cried. “It’s the morning!” Sandor explained in a exasperated tone, pulling her back to him. Sansa pouted before settling again and calling out, “Come in!”

Catelyn and Gammy waltzed in, carrying a breakfast tray laden with cinnamon rolls and coffee. “Good morning!” Catelyn greeted, beaming at them. “Sorry to wake you a little early, but today is a special day and you need a good meal to get started!”

Sansa eased out of Sandor’s iron grip on her waist, shooting him a slightly confused look at his hesitance to let her go, and turned to her mother. “What’s today?”

“Why, you’re going to get your wedding dress, of course!” Gammy exclaimed. “…Oh!” Sansa answered, plastering an expression of joy on her face. “How silly of me to forget. It seems like everything is happening so quickly.”

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Catelyn reassured her. “I have the dress shop booked this whole morning for you, and they promised me that any adjustments can be made before tomorrow.” Sansa was not sure why her mother needed to book the shop when it was unlikely that anyone else would happen to be buying a wedding dress that day, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless. “Thank you, Mom.”

“Now eat up!” Gammy encouraged, and the two women left the room. Sansa peeked at Sandor, who had sat up against the headboard. He was studying her intently, causing Sansa to blush and move out of the bed towards the breakfast tray. “Coffee?” she asked, her voice coming out as a squeak.

“Yes…thank you,” her boss answered, his grey eyes watching her every movement. Sansa felt like prey under his scrutiny, and with a shock, she realized she didn’t mind it.

In an attempt to lighten the heavy silence, Sansa said, “These are Mom’s special cinnamon rolls. I’ll have to get the recipe from her so I can make them for us…I have to learn to cook better now, I guess, right?” She gave a nervous laugh, climbing back onto the bed. Sandor took the plate of rolls from her so she could settle with the coffee, his mouth twitching. With a heated look, he answered, “As long as we get to have breakfast in bed like this.”

Sansa’s hands trembled and she gripped her mug tighter, trying to understand the flurries of emotion awakening inside her. Only a few days ago she had lived in mingled fear and distaste of her boss, and now she was sitting in bed with him having breakfast, and about to marry him. This weekend she had learned more about him than in the last year and a half, and it vexed her to discover that she was growing to enjoy his company. Underneath his grumpy, rough, fearsome exterior, he was actually human.

Could she possibly be falling for him? The idea seemed ridiculous, yet a little voice in her head whispered that it was true.

She wondered what Sandor was thinking, and feeling.

They finished eating and dressed, then walked downstairs. Catelyn and Gammy were ready and waiting, with matching smiles. “Sandor, honey, your phone is ready to be picked up if you would like to go into town with us,” Catelyn offered. “But I’m afraid you’ll be on your own for a while.”

“That’s alright,” Sandor rasped. “I was hoping to use a computer there anyways. There are some things for work I need to check on.”

The day was sunny and cool. On the boat ride over, Sandor placed his arm casually around her shoulders, sending an electric current through Sansa’s skin. When they had to disembark, she was both relieved and disheartened when he took it away. Maybe she was going crazy.

They picked up Sandor’s phone, then parted ways at the convenience store. Sansa watched through the window as Sandor settled at the public computer, a dusty dinosaur that ate quarters in exchange for internet service.

At the bridal store, the employees fawned over Sansa and led her to the selection of dresses they currently carried in her size. Most of them were fairly outdated or way out of Sansa’s taste. She found it difficult to concentrate when all she could think about was Sandor, and how strange…yet nice…it had felt to be sharing coffee and rolls in bed. Like a normal couple.

After trying on six dresses, Sansa began to feel exhausted and anxious when Catelyn took her aside and said, “I brought this along in case you didn’t find anything…I know it’s older but I thought…maybe…” Without continuing, Catelyn unzipped a garment bag and revealed her own wedding dress. Sansa had dressed up in it once, when she was a little girl, and she and her friend Jeyne pretended to be getting married.

The fabric was still soft and vibrant, the years of storage having done little to mar its beauty. Sansa found her eyes were filled with tears. She was going to wear her mother’s wedding dress in a sham wedding. It seemed blasphemous, but the selfish part of her wanted to wear it anyways. Perhaps it would lend her courage.

They put the dress on, and Gammy began placing pins here and there for alterations. Catelyn Stark was bigger up top than Sansa was, and Gammy joked around as she pined back the extra fabric, saying, “It’s like an Easter egg hunt! Oh, there they are!” Sansa had never thought she would be felt up by her own grandmother.

The alterations were noted, as well as some changes to make the dress feel a little more modern, and they were finished. Relieved, Sansa hopped off the little stool and changed back into her normal clothes. The shop was beginning to feel crowded. Back in the fresh air, Catelyn suggested that they fetch Sandor from the convenience store and have lunch. Along the way, they chatted about the wedding and some of the details like flowers, food, and the bridesmaids dresses. Sansa informed her Gammy and mother that she had told Jeyne, Margie, and Arya to just wear a nice dress, then she lapsed into silence.

Sandor met them on the sidewalk. Sansa was trying hard not to notice at how nice his shirt and jacket looked on him when she saw someone out of the corner of her eye.

Harry.

The young man was leading a group of children into the tiny park adjacent to the library. Before Sansa realized it, she was telling her group she would catch up with them later and headed over to Harry. Her distractedness did not keep her from noticing the feel of Sandor’s eyes on the back of her head, but she ignored it.

Harry looked up and saw her and waved, a bright smile stretching across his face as the wind tossed his dirty blond hair.

* * *

 

Sandor stared suspiciously as Sansa hugged the strange young man. He was tall and handsome, and Sandor hated him on sight.

“Who is that?” he asked, more gruffly than he intended. Mrs. Stark and Gammy shared a knowing look. “That’s Harry Hardying,” Mrs. Stark replied calmly. “He’s Sansa’s old boyfriend. They broke up right before she moved to New York.”

Sandor eyed the other man closely, watching as he practically beamed at Sansa and laughed at something she said. Was she flirting? _He_ was definitely flirting with her, touching her shoulder like that. An unfamiliar but ravenous beast growled inside of him, and Sandor despised himself for it.

Why should he be jealous? Why should he care that the little bird looked so happy talking to another man? Did she still hold feelings for him? He wondered why they broke up in the first place, since they seemed to be so comfortable with each other.

“Sansa…never mentioned him?” Mrs. Stark asked hesitantly. Sandor tore his eyes away from them meet the inquisitive expressions of Sansa’s relatives. He shrugged. “No.”

“Oh. I guess it just never came up then,” Catelyn commented gently. Sandor wished the two women would stop looking at him and just lead the way to wherever the hell it was they were going to eat lunch. Gammy must have read his mind for she took them by the arms and trotted down the sidewalk.

Sandor tried to forget the memory of Sansa’s red curls flying in the breeze as she tilted her head back and laughed, while Harry’s smile and eyes did little to hide his infatuation. The scene made Sandor want to punch something, until he remembered that _he_ was marrying Sansa tomorrow. The thought gave him sense of twisted pleasure and triumph over a man he hadn’t even met.

The restaurant was a cozy café looking out over the water. Taking a seat at a plastic table shaded by a large red umbrella, Sandor attempted to act nonchalant, as if Sansa ditching them to talk to her ex was no big deal. These women were perceptive, and the last thing Sandor needed was for them to suspect he was on edge.

They were served water and iced tea, after which Mrs. Stark took off her sunglasses to perch them on top of her head and turned to Sandor, smiling broadly. “Sandor, I have something I’d like to give you.” She reached into her purse and drew out a small velvet box. She handed it across the table to Sandor, who took it slowly, wondering what could be inside. Gammy shifted in her chair excitedly.

“I know Sansa already has a ring that’s being fitted in New York,” Catelyn began, folding her hands. Sandor nodded, recalling that part of their story. “But it just doesn’t feel right for her to be married without a ring tomorrow.” She gestured towards the box, and Sandor opened it.

Inside lay a beautiful, antique cut white gold ring. A raised pearl nestled gently in the center, surrounded by a cluster of sparkling diamonds.

“It’s been in our family for a very long time,” Gammy explained. “It was my wedding ring, my mother’s wedding ring, and her mother’s. Eddard bought Catelyn her own ring, but we’ve saved it for Sansa or Arya.”

“And not just so Sansa will have a ring for tomorrow,” Catelyn continued. “But, as it is a family heirloom, she will have something to bring back to New York with her. And you, Sandor, are family now too. Which makes it even more special that you should be the one to give it to her. And maybe, if you two have children, you’ll give it to your daughter one day.”

Sandor couldn’t swallow. He gazed down at the ring, speechless as emotions clashed within his chest. Guilt, bitter and heavy, roiled inside him, grappling with his conflicted feelings for Sansa, and for the strange affections he realized were developing for the Starks. Sandor had not had to feel like this about anyone since his sister had died, and now the onslaught felt too much to bear.

What had happened to him?

Abruptly he stood up, clicking the box closed. “Thank you, Mrs. Stark. Could you excuse me for a moment?” The two women, surprised, murmured “of course” and Sandor hurried away through the restaurant and out the exit, heading for the dock.

“Sandor?” He glanced around and saw Sansa jogging towards him, her red hair flying in the air behind her and the skirt of her dress rising up on her creamy legs. Sandor didn’t stop walking, letting her catch up to him.

“Hey,” Sansa exclaimed breathlessly. “Where are you going? What happened?” “Nothing,” Sandor barked harshly, channeling anger to hide what he really felt. “Just leave me alone.”

Sansa paused, glaring at him, but as he moved away to the docks she continued to follow him. Stupid bird. This was all her fault. Why couldn’t she the kind of family with divorced parents and drugged out kids and vengeful relatives who didn’t give a rat’s ass? Why did she have to have the perfect parents and siblings? They only served as a reminder of what was taken away from him.

Jumping onto their boat, Sandor began untying the rope. He wasn’t going to leave the women stranded, but he needed to do something, and right now driving a boat was the closest thing to going for a drive.

Sansa jumped on after him. “Sandor, please, tell me what’s going on!” she shouted as he started the motor. Ignoring her, he pulled out into the river and sped up, hoping she would shut up and sit down.

Instead, she grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. “What is your problem?” she cried.

Sandor could not take it anymore. “I had to get away!” he snapped, steering the boat around a buoy. “I forgot what it was like!”

“What?” Sansa asked, her hand clenching his bicep. Her skin felt so soft.

“What it was like to have a family!” he raged, swerving to face her. “To have people that cared about you!”

There, he said it. The little bird gazed up at him in surprise, then her eyes blinked sadly. Scowling, Sandor turned away from her. He did not want her pity. “Sandor,” she said softly, placing a hand on his arm again. “I’m sorry.”

Baffled, Sandor peered at her. “For what?” “For yelling at you. For not understanding how all this might make you feel.” She sighed and sat down. Sandor lowered the engine to an idle wake.

“How could you possibly understand?” he asked harshly. She shrugged, lacing her fingers together. “I’ve been so caught up on how I felt about lying to my parents and marrying you, and I never really stopped to wonder what you could be dealing with. At least, not until last night. You were always so…closed off and cold. I just…” She shrugged again, her eyes filling with tears.

Sandor sighed heavily and sat next to her, running his hands through his hair. “No, you have nothing to be sorry for. This was all my idea, and I got us into this. Whatever blame there is to be had, it is mine. I’ve never told anyone the things I told you last night, so how could you know what it would be like for me to be thrust into the midst of the Brady Bunch?” To his relief, Sansa giggled a bit at that and wiped her eyes.

Feeling calmer, Sandor asked, “So, Harry?” Sansa blinked at him. “How…oh, my mother.” “Yes. He seems…charming.” The words sounded like poison rolling off his tongue. “He’s very nice. He was a good boyfriend,” Sansa admitted, much to Sandor’s dismay. “So why did you break up?”

She huffed and adjusted her skirt. “We wanted different things, I guess. He wanted to stay here and teach, and I wanted to go to the big city. I wanted him to come with me, he wanted me to stay here and get married. We fought, I left, and…that was that.” Studying her, Sandor realized she didn’t look wistful or regretful. She looked content and in acceptance of the choices she had made.

He hadn’t believed until that moment that she could be anymore beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that I wanted Sansa’s ex to not only be Harry, but be a good memory rather than something bad, for once. I have yet to decide if Joffrey will make an appearance in this, he may just be mentioned. 
> 
> Up next: Sansa and Sandor have an unwelcome guest; the wedding arrives!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the big day!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here!!! An update!!! Before you begin this, I feel that I should apologize. I had no idea it would take me this long to update, and you have the right to know why. 
> 
> For months, ever since I last posted, in fact, I have had zero drive for writing. I'm not sure why, whether it was writer's block or lack of inspiration or something else. Regardless, I felt no motivation to continue my stories, although I've continued reading fanfiction. Perhaps I needed a break, to refuel my muse. Perhaps all I needed was to read for a while, and not write. 
> 
> I can't say for sure that we are back in action, that Thundercats are go, that it is full speed ahead from now on, but I finally finished this chapter and I feel it is a small step, and a small accomplishment, for me in my slow ease back into writing. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it still has the feel that the past chapters had. One chapter is left until The Proposal is concluded.

After meeting Catelyn and Gammy back at the restaurant to continue lunch, they drove the boat home as the afternoon sun glistened on the waves. Sansa and Sandor trailed slowly behind her mother and grandmother as the two women talked animatedly about the last minute details of the wedding. For some reason, Sansa wanted to spend some more time with Sandor alone. And she liked the way his hand kept brushing hers as they walked side by side on the dock.

Ned walked out of the garage as they climbed the path to the house. “Sansa, Sandor, could I talk to you both for a minute?” Catelyn and Gammy had gone into the kitchen. Sansa glanced at Sandor and shrugged, following her father back to the doorway of the barn. He looked very serious.

“Your mother is never to hear of this,” he said in a low, but firm voice as he closed the door behind them. Sansa was confused. Something was not right, and her heart began to beat fast.

Ned came to stand in front of them, but as he opened his mouth to speak, a man walked out from around the corner.

Dressed in a crisp suit and tucking his phone away in his chest pocket was Mr. Baelish from the immigration office. The blood froze in Sansa’s veins.

“I said I would check up on you,” the small, thin man said smoothly as he stroked his mustache. Sansa’s mind raced, trying to understand what was happening. Why this man was here.

“Imagine my surprise,” Ned began, “when I listened to a voicemail this morning from Mr. Baelish, addressing the facts of your relationship that you neglected to mention to us.” His grey eyes narrowed, zoning in on Sandor, who hadn’t spoken a word. “Imagine my surprise to learn that Mr. Clegane was about to be deported, only to suddenly be engaged to my daughter, his _employee_ , who, as far as we all knew previous to this weekend, hated him.”

In spite of the cool air of the barn, sweat stood out on Sansa’s forehead. “I called Mr. Baelish back, and after hearing some of his suspicions regarding your sudden union, I decided to fly him out here and get to the bottom of this.”

No one spoke. Sansa could feel Sandor tense beside her, but she refused to look at him. All she could do was stare at her father and Mr. Baelish, who was watching them with a predatory smile.

“Now, here is what’s going to happen,” Ned continued after a moment. “Sansa, you are going to give Mr. Baelish a statement.” The other man stepped forward, pulling out a small recorder. “You will tell him that you were pressured into being engaged to Mr. Clegane. We worked it out; you will not go to jail for being involved. And he,” Ned pointed at Sandor, “will be shipped off to Canada where he belongs.”

Baelish moved closer holding the recorder ready, his green eyes filled with poisonous delight at the situation.

Sansa hesitated. For a moment, everything slowed as she weighed her options. She could do exactly as her father said. She would be free of this arrangement. She would probably lose her job, but she would not be sent to jail.

Sandor would be taken away. Her heart gave a sudden pang at the thought of never seeing him again. Of never hearing his raspy voice, seeing his shadow as he towered over her, feeling the rough callouses of his hands, or feeling the way his dark grey eyes electrified her skin when he looked at her.

It only took her that moment to decide.

“You want a statement? Here’s my statement,” she spoke softly, leaning towards the recorder. “Three years ago I started working for _Baratheon Publishing,_ and became Sandor Clegane’s assistant. A year ago we started dating. Six months later he asked me to marry him. I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow.” She turned and stalked out of the barn, leaving behind the shocked and angry expression on her father’s face, and the surprised but calculating expression on Baelish’s face.

She went into the house and upstairs to the bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed for a few minutes before she heard someone walk in and close the door. Sandor.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He moved behind her, standing so close she could almost feel the fabric of his shirt brushing her back. Before, this would have intimidated her horribly, but now…now it sent a thrill through her.

“You heard what he said. You’ll get off free.” Sansa heard him swallow. “Wouldn’t have to put up with me any longer.” Sandor had got them both into this mess, yet his words made her wonder if he wanted out of this too…no, if he did, he would have said so in the barn.

“You’ve kept up your end of the bargain,” he continued. “I understand if you want out.”

Sansa turned to face him, and looked up into those eyes filled with wariness, apprehension, defiance, and just a twinge of hope.

“I don’t want out.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Sandor reached for the back of her neck, his arm winding around her waist, and he pulled her up towards him. Before she could blink, he was kissing her.

Time stopped, like it had in the barn. Only now, her mind emptied completely, except for the thought that she never wanted him to stop kissing her. Sandor’s mouth worked against her own, hard, desperate, and consuming. She could nothing but follow his lead, and she was glad to do it. When his tongue entered her mouth, she felt her legs dissolve into jelly.

At some point, her arms reached to wrap around his neck, and then he was pressing her down into the bedding behind them, kissing not only her lips but her neck, cheeks, ears. Tingles of hot and cold flowed up and down Sansa’s skin. She felt overwhelmed by the emotions and desires awaking within her as Sandor claimed her lips again, cupping her cheek with his hand. The other hand left her waist to tangle in her hair. Sansa’s own hands wandered across his shoulders and back, feeling those glorious – yes, glorious – muscles.

Amidst the haze of sensations and the feeling that this was _so right_ , Sansa’s last vestige of rational thought told her to slow down, so she pulled back a little from his mouth, panting and opening her bleary eyes to meet his.

Then the realization of what they had just done hit them both, and they stared at each other in a stunned silence.

Sansa swallowed, apprehension beginning to replace her previous feelings of pleasure. What had just happened?

Sandor must have felt the same, for he suddenly drew up and away from her. She sat up on her elbows and they regarded each other cautiously. “I…” She could think of nothing to say. Sandor’s eyes were still dark and intense, but he had collected himself and she could see he was reverting back into his cold and distant armor.

Disappointment welled up in her as Sansa realized her reaction must have been taken as a sign of rejection. Before she could correct his assumption, he turned and walked out of the bedroom.

That evening, Catelyn and Gammy bundled Sandor off to another guest room. “Can’t be with each other the night before the wedding, you know!” Gammy informed them with a wink. Sansa blushed and glanced at Sandor, who had been even more quiet than usual since their kiss that afternoon.

Dinner had been strange and tense. Ned had been buried deep in thought, a frown on his face as he observed Sansa and Sandor. Her siblings had been blessedly unaware of any tension at the table, and if Catelyn and Gammy noticed, they said nothing about it. Sansa couldn’t to escape upstairs until she realized it meant being alone with Sandor again since the kiss.

Now he simply gathered his things in silence. Sansa wished she could have a moment to speak with him.

As Catelyn and Gammy left the room, Sandor paused at the doorway and looked back at her. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he rasped. She could not discern the expression in his grey eyes, so she only nodded and offered a small smile. “I’ll be the one in white.”

* * *

 

The following morning, Sansa was awoken by her mother, grandmother, Arya, Jeyne, and Marg. All four of them bustled around the bedroom, setting up curling irons and makeup and hanging dresses. Arya, eager to delay her inevitable makeover, appointed herself as coffee runner and continually brought hot mugs from the kitchen, as well as fruit and croissants.

Sansa tried to act excited and happy, as a bride on her wedding day should be, but after a nearly sleepless night thinking about Sandor, the kiss, Mr. Baelish, and the whole bloody mess, she felt exhausted and a little mournful.

“Are you alright, dear?” Catelyn inquired as she set the curlers in Sansa’s hair. “You haven’t said much.” “Just a little tired and nervous, I suppose,” Sansa offered weakly, reaching for a cup of coffee while she perused makeup ideas on pinterest. This might not be her ideal wedding, but she was determined to look beautiful anyway.

By midmorning her hair was curled into a loose up-do, strands of hair floating gently around her face, and a small crown of woven flowers set on her head. Her makeup was done lightly, with winged eyeliner. After a small lunch, Catelyn and Gammy left to oversee the rest of the wedding preparations while Marg and Arya and Jeyne finished putting on their dresses and helped Sansa into her own.

The soft, white dress billowed around her and Sansa smoothed the skirt carefully, risking a peek of herself in the mirror. Despite the old-fashioned style, the gown was truly lovely and fit her perfectly. If only it was enough to stop the frantic beating of her heart.

Catelyn and Gammy appeared again, ooing over the dress and taking a few pictures, then Sansa was handed her bouquet and ushered quietly downstairs, her bridesmaids leading the way.

“Sandor…? How is he?” Sansa managed to ask her mother as they reached the sliding glass doors in the living room. From there they would along the stone path to the barn.

“He’s fine, quiet as always,” Catelyn assured, adjusting a strand of hair. “Looks handsome in his suit. Now, I must go join the others. Oh, here is Ned.”

Sansa turned and saw her father hesitantly approaching. He looked nice in his suit, but his eyes still held a swirl of suspicion and doubt. Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing she wasn’t disappointing him. “Hi, Dad.”

“Sansa.” For a moment, his gaze softened. “You look beautiful. Ready?” He sounded resigned, but Sansa simply nodded and took his arm.

The other girls trailed along the path and disappeared inside the barn. Soft piano music drifted from the doorway, clashing with the blood pounding in Sansa’s ears; her heart was performing backflips in her chest. It was almost too much.

They reached the doorway, and Sansa blinked as the congregation arose and the music changed tempo. Then her gaze fastened on a tall, lone figure at the end of the aisle.

 

* * *

 

Sandor had spent a sleepless night in the guestroom, surprised that he actually wished to be back on the floor in the other room he’d shared with Sansa. For most of the morning he’d been left to himself, only occasionally interrupted by Sansa’s brothers. He took less time to get ready, but soon he found himself shaving and dressing in the rented suit from town. He brushed his hair back at first, the grimaced and combed some back over his scars. Today would be bad enough without drawing even more attention to his ugly mug.

And always at the forefront of his mind was that kiss. Frankly, he was not sure what had gotten into him, except that in the moment, all he could think about was claiming Sansa’s soft, sweet lips and tasting her smooth skin. The kissing had been so intoxicating that Sandor nearly forgot himself. The little bird had seemed so eager until she suddenly pulled away, allowing the cold waters of reality to crash over him.

Of course she would repulsed by being kissed by him. He was not only her boss, her enemy, but revoltingly ugly to boot. Her refusal to step away from their deal did not change anything; she only wanted to keep her job. Not that Sandor could blame her for that. But just for minute, he had allowed himself to believe that she might actually _want_ to marry him. And that made him feel even more disgusted with himself. _I’m nothing but a fool._

Now he stood in a barn, surrounded people he did not know and cared nothing for, waiting for his bride and sweating through the suit jacket. He’d managed to avoid the icy glare of Ned Stark so far, but Mr. Baelish sat amongst the guests, his mouth twisted mockingly as he surveyed the scene, scribbling in a stupid little notebook. Sandor longed to vent some of his pent up frustration by punching the smirk off his face.

The music began, and the little bird’s sister and friends appeared, taking places opposite him. Sandor’s mouth felt dry and the guests stood then, and before him appeared Sansa next to her father.

The world stopped as Sandor stared at the girl walking slowly towards him. She was drop-dead gorgeous, as he knew she would be. The dress hugged her figure flatteringly, and he longed to smooth back the wisps of hair about her face. A soft, pink glow adorned her cheeks, and she cast wide, questioning blue eyes at him.

Once again, Sandor was at war within himself. Could he really do this? The beast inside growled that yes, he could. He could be selfish and take this girl to be his, continue deceiving her family and his boss, and keep his job. Sansa seemed to be warming up to him, if their kiss earlier had anything to say about it. Maybe she didn’t mind marrying him anymore. Maybe she wouldn’t even want to do the planned divorce. Sandor felt that he would enjoy waking up every morning next her…for the rest of his life.

The other part of him roiled with guilt and self-loathing. How could he abandon the principles he’d withheld is whole life? How could he destroy whatever future this girl had planned for herself before he came along and ripped a hole right through it? Sandor had always been a bit of a selfish man, but was he _this_ selfish? Was it possible that he, that they, could keep this horrible ruse up forever?

The battle raged within his chest as he watched Ned Stark kiss his daughter when they reached the altar. The man’s grey flashed coldly at Sandor before he turned and found his seat on the front row next to the other Starks. Sansa took her place beside Sandor, and his senses were assaulted by the sweet fragrance of her hair, her skin. Everything about her was sunshine, and he…he was a dark, rank creature from the pits of hell.

The music stopped, and the minister greeted them. Sandor eyed the man with some confusion; with his long red hair, a white streak standing out amongst the flaming locks, and lazy, mischievous grin, he seemed rather out of place. The minister winked at Sansa, causing an immediate dark pool of jealousy to flood Sandor’s veins.

“Family, and friends, of Sansa and Sandor, welcome. We have come together this day to join these two souls in holy matrimony, in the sight of the old gods and the new, and in the sight of those who love them.” Oh, gods. Blood thundered in Sandor’s ears as he realized what he was about to do. He glanced sideways at Sansa; she was watching the minister with an air of respectfulness, but he could see some doubt lurking in her eyes. She was willing to go through with this.

Sandor held up his hand, causing the minister to pause in the middle of what was sure to be a long speech about love and loyalty and honesty, none of which Sandor felt applied to him at the moment, if ever.

“Er…yes, Sandor? Do you have a question?”

Sandor paused. “No, not a question. I have something I need to say.”

The man squinted his eyes. “Can it wait until later?” he whispered.

The congregation shuffled curiously behind them. Sandor shook his head. “No.”

Reluctant, the minister nodded to him. Sandor turned to face the sea of faces staring up at him expectantly. “Sandor? What are you doing?” Sansa whispered next to him. Her eyes were wide with fear.

He ignored her and instead addressed the congregation. “Uh…hello. Thank you for being here today. I have a bit of an announcement to make…more like a confession, really.”

“Sandor,” Sansa whispered.

“I am a Canadian, with an expired visa, who was about to be deported. And because I didn’t want to leave this…beautiful country of yours, I forced Sansa to marry me.”

“Sandor, stop,” Sansa whispered again, her voice pleading. But Sandor would not stop. He would do this or die. He had already begun hammering the nails on his coffin; it was time to drive them home.

“See, Sansa has always had this incredible work ethic. Something I think he learned from you,” Sandor continued, looking at Ned Stark, who blinked a few times, obviously unsure of how to react to such an unexpected compliment. “For three years I watched her work harder than anyone else at our company, and I knew if I threatened to destroy her career, she would do just about anything.”

He paused a moment to swallow, his throat dry and burning. He could feel the scars on his face twitching as he fought to maintain his composure. He dared not look at Sansa.

“So I blackmailed her, to come up here, and to lie to you.” The look of utter shock, hurt, and disappointment that graced the faces of Catelyn and Gammy were almost too much. Sansa’s brothers looked ready to get their guns. Arya simply stared, pure hatred swirling in her eyes.

“And I thought it would be easy to watch her do it. But it wasn’t. It turns out it’s not easy to ruin someone’s life once you realize how…wonderful they are.” Somewhere in the middle of the crown he could see Baelish recording the confession, nodding and smiling with that stupid little pointed beard and mustache. He wished he could rip it off.

Sandor turned and faced Catelyn and Ned. “You have a beautiful family. Don’t let this come between you. This is all my fault.”

Now he did the hardest part. He finally met Sansa’s eyes, and he was surprised to see them full of tears. The look on her face was not one of relief or joy, but of an emotion he could not name. No one had ever looked at him like this. It made what he had to say next more difficult than swallowing gravel. “Sansa, this was a business deal, and you held up your end, but now the deal is off.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he stepped off the little stage, muttering an apology one more time to the Starks, before squaring his shoulders and striding down the aisle. “Meet me at the dock. You’re taking me to the airport,” he snarled to Baelish.

Behind him he could hear the murmurings of the congregation, but he dared not look back. He knew he was walking away from the only possible happiness he could ever have, but he didn’t need to see how Sansa was reacting this. Clenching his fists tightly, he climbed the path to the house, feeling in his heart that whatever small shred of hope still lived just shriveled and died.


	9. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not an update :(

Sorry,there is no update! I just took it off of archive user only viewing so if you get a notification, this is to let you know the story is still at a...stand still. I'm not sure when or if I ever will update it, but for those of you have read and loved this story, I thank you.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I know this has been a long time coming, and for those of you who are still around, thank you so much for sticking by while I took an unforgiveable amount of time to finally update and bring us to the end of this story. I hope you enjoy the final chapter. Keep in mind that this is not beta'd.

Sansa stared at the doorway to the barn, her ears ringing. Every part of her felt cold, disbelieving. What had just happened?

Slowly, not responding to the voices and searching hands around her, she stepped off the little stage, feeling like she was going to be sick. He had…Sandor had… A few days ago, Sansa would have felt a mixture of relief and apprehension, but now all she felt was that this was wrong, wrong, wrong. “Sansa!” Her mother’s voice finally broke through the fog surrounding her mind. Catelyn’s concerned face appeared before. “Sansa, is this true? Please, explain! What was he talking about?” “I-I…” Sansa swallowed, turning away. “I’ll explain later.” Gathering her dress up, she pushed through the knot of people before her towards the doorway. How much time had passed since Sandor left? Kicking off her heels into the soft grass, Sansa ran up the stone steps to the house. She was not going to let him get away with this. How could he just leave after everything they’d been through? “Sandor!” she called out once she was inside. There was no answer. Tripping, she rushed up the stairs and burst into the bedroom they had shared. It was empty.

With a heavy breath, Sansa noted that Sandor’s belongings were also gone. On the bed was a manila envelope. Sansa picked it up with shaking hands, reading his familiar scrawl across the front. _Little Bird_. Warily, she opened the folder, and slid out the large packet of paper. It was her manuscript. Attached was a note from Sandor.

_Sansa, You were right. This is good. I didn’t want to encourage you to go ahead with publishing it because I was a selfish bastard that didn’t want to lose the best assistant I ever had. I’ve already spoken to the publishing house and you’re in for contract if you choose. Thanks for putting up with my sorry ass all this time. You deserve so much better. I’m sorry. Sandor_

A strangled gasp escaped her lips as Sansa slumped against the bed post. “So…I guess it’s true then,” came a voice behind her. Sansa whirled and saw Harry standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. Sana blinked, and clutched at the papers in her hands, suddenly filled with unspeakable fury.

“You know, this is what really pisses me off about him!” she cried. “He traps me in this stupid deal so that we both don’t lose our jobs, acts like a big baby about it the whole time even though it was HIS idea, and then at the last minute, that’s when he decides to be honorable! And then he has the nerve to do this?” She waved the packet around. “He thinks he can just leave? After all this? Just leave me with a contract deal for my manuscript, like that’s going to make everything ok?” She paused, breathing heavily.

Harry stared at her quietly, then smiled. “You love him.”

The words echoed through her mind, and Sansa knew, with a bolt of electricity, that it was true. How could it be? “I…” Harry, stepping aside and making a sweeping motion toward the door, continued, “So what are you waiting for? Go get him.”

Running downstairs in a wedding dress was actually harder than running up them, but Sansa managed. She burst out of the house, heading for the dock. “Sansa! Sansa, where are you going?” Her parents and siblings and Gammy suddenly surrounded her. “I have to go,” she explained breathlessly. “I have to go after him!”

Catelyn pulled back a little, looking at her daughter intently. “What? Go after him? Why would you do that? I don’t understand…Sansa, he was using you! He deceived us all! YOU deceived us all! And now all you want to do is go after him? Why?” Sansa had never seen her father in such a frenzy before, and it rendered her speechless. But Catelyn answered for her. “Because she loves him.”

Sansa shot a pleading look at her mother, and saw tears but also warmth in her gaze. “Go, honey," Catelyn urged. “Do what you have to do.” Ned looked flabbergasted. “What? She loves him? Cat…Sansa…you…” He raised his hands to cover his face. Sansa’s siblings looked equally perplexed. “So…we aren’t going to chase him down and castrate him?” Jon asked after a moment of awkward silence. Sansa swallowed a giggle. “Oh, we are going to chase him down alright.”

****

The trip to the airport took longer than Sansa wanted. Catelyn insisted that she change out of the wedding dress, which took up precious minutes. Sansa could only hope that when they arrived, Sandor and Petyr’s plane had not left yet. She had attempted to call Sandor but it went straight to voicemail. The minute the family Escalade pulled onto the tarmac, Sansa bolted from the vehicle to run towards the tower. A plane was on the runway, slowing moving. Fumbling through her purse, she found her cell phone and placed a call. High up in the control tower, she could just barely see a few figures sitting behind the tinted glass.

“Come on, Sam, pick up!” Her phone rang a few times, and then Sam’s cheery voice answered. “Hello, Sansa! I’m surprised you’re calling, aren’t you getting married today? Sorry I couldn’t make it, I – “ “Sam, please shut up, this is an emergency!” Sansa hollered, her breath labored. _I need to run more_. The plane had turned and was beginning to taxi down the runway. “I need you to stop that plane!”

“What? Sansa, where are you? Stop the plane, what are you talking about?” “Please, Sam, you have to stop it now!” But it was too late, the plane picked up speed and lifted off the ground. “No…” Sansa whispered, staring helplessly. “I’m sorry, Sansa, there was nothing I could do,” Sam said contritely. “It’s ok, thanks.” She hung up and stared at the sky, watching the plane become smaller and smaller, carrying Sandor away from her.

“What do I do now?” The rest of her family had finally caught up. Catelyn slid an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not too late, honey. You can go after him still.” Sansa wiped her eyes. “My ticket doesn’t isn’t good until the flight tomorrow. It might be too late by then.” “Well, it’s a good thing I bought that private jet then,” Gammy announced casually.

***

Sandor tossed the empty tape roll into the trash can and lifted the box onto his desk. Not being someone to harbor trinkets and decorations, his office didn’t have much to pack up except for his books and papers. With a groan, he eyed the heavy boxes, then glanced at the doorway of his office. The workplace outside his domain was eerily quiet, but he could hear the whispers shared between the cubicles as assistants and editors strolled by, peeking in his office to see if he really was leaving, then hurrying to confirm it to their friends in the break room. If he had more energy to spare he would probably have cursed them all out by now, but at the moment he was just too tired to care.

The journey back to New York had been one hellish experience. Baelish prattled on and on about his victory and Sandor had, more than once, wondered if prison would be worth it if he reached over and strangled the little man with his stupid mockingbird tie.

Once home, he had raided the liquor cabinet and drank himself into a stupor, until he collapsed on the bed, his room spinning and his thoughts filled only of red hair and soft skin and regret. The next morning greeted him with a migraine, but there was work to be done. He only had one day to pack up his office and his belongings at the apartment. So here he was, once the feared chief executive editor, now reduced to an unemployed deportee. Trant must have shat himself with glee when he found out.

Sandor decided he was going to need a dolly from maintenance to load up the boxes. He was strong, but balancing five boxes of books, or going back and forth to the elevator with each one, did not appeal to him. Reluctantly, he walked out of his office and glanced around, spotting one of the assistants chatting up a new hire.

“Hey, Jorah, can you call downstairs for someone from delivery to bring up a dolly?” The man didn’t seem to hear him. Sandor rolled his eyes and spoke again. “Jorah, call delivery for me…please?” Jorah glanced up him in surprise; whether it was from the fact that Sandor was talking to him or the fact that he had said ’please’, Sandor didn’t know, but the more Jorah ogled him, the more impatient he grew. Seeing the scowl beginning to stretch across his face, Jorah cleared his throat. “Uh, yea, sure.” “Thanks,” Sandor muttered, and as he turned around he saw Sansa enter the room.

Her hair was wild and wind-swept, and her clothes were rumpled. With barely a glance around the room she spotted him, and her blue eyes widened and she swallowed. Sandor stared at her. “Sansa?”

By now everyone in the office was staring at them, breaths held. Sansa let loose her own. “Sandor…” His shock ebbing into confusion, Sandor became horribly aware of everyone watching them, so he did what he did best: put up defenses and feign disinterest. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “And why are you…panting?” “Because I’ve been running,” Sansa answered, slowly moving between the cubicles towards him.

“Running. All the way from Alaska?” Sandor asked, plastering a sarcastic smirk on his face. She stopped in front of him, just looking at him. “I need to talk to you.” “Yea, well, I don’t have time to talk. I need to catch a 5:45 to Toronto.” Sandor turned to Jorah. “Did you call them yet? I need those boxes out today and –"

“Sandor! Stop talking!”

He whirled around in surprise. Sansa seemed to have grown taller, and the blue in her eyes had turned to ice chips. He couldn’t look away. “Ok.” He folded his arms and waited.

“This will only take a second,” Sansa went on. “Fine, what?” he asked, glaring at their audience. Sansa cleared her throat.

“Three days ago, I loathed you. I used to dream about you getting hit by a cab, or poisoned.” “Oh, that’s nice,” Sandor ground out, pulling himself up more to tower over her. “I told you to stop talking,” Sansa reminded him, not backing down. After a moment, she continued. “Then, we had our little adventure up in Alaska, and…things started to change.” She swallowed again, her face of determination mixing with one of tender hopefulness. “Things changed when we kissed.” A flurry of whispers echoed from the cubicles, but Sandor couldn’t hear them for the ringing in his ears as he stared down at this lovely, wretched woman.

“And when you told me about your past. Even when you checked me out when…well.” She licked her lips nervously, and she, too, suddenly seemed aware of their audience. But that didn’t stop her. “I didn’t realize any of this, until I was standing alone. In a barn. Husbandless.” Sandor clenched his jaw. “Get to the point,” he growled.

“You can imagine my disappointment,” Sansa replied, moving forward a little closer, “when it suddenly dawned on me that the man I love –" Sandor reeled back, his arms dropping to his sides " - is about to be kicked out of the country.” Sandor stared at her, a wave of disbelief, joy, and confusion washing over him, and it didn’t matter anymore that they were surrounded by dozens of nosy employees; all that mattered was that she kept looking at him like that.

“So, Sandor…marry me. Because I’d like to date you.” A crushing feeling entered his chest as Sandor pondered the gravity of her words. He held no disillusionment about himself: he was not an easy person to be around, or look at. She couldn’t be serious.

He slowly shook his head. “Trust me,” he answered hoarsely. “You don’t really want to be with me.” “Yes, I do,” she insisted. He shook his head again. “The thing is…Sansa…little bird…” Her lips trembled at that. “There’s a reason why I’ve been alone all this time. I’m comfortable that way, and I think it would be a lot easier if we forgot everything that happened, and I just left.” Sansa studied him, biting that glorious bottom lip of hers, as she moved even closer and he could smell the floral scent of her hair. “You’re right, that would be easier,” she whispered, and the look on her face told him that she didn’t want what was easier. She wanted him, even if it was going to be hard. Sandor blinked hard, feeling the nasty twisting around his heart vanish. 

“Well then.” He took the coat she had been clutching in her hand, set it on the desk next to them, and he pulled her into his arms.

 

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The chapters will get longer, I’m just testing the waters.


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